


The Empress, The Lovers, and The Star

by Littlest_nightmare, watchhhimdance



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Miscarriage, More ships to be added, Trigger Warning: Spousal Abuse, fem!Loras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 95,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlest_nightmare/pseuds/Littlest_nightmare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchhhimdance/pseuds/watchhhimdance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aerys makes a different choice, agreeing to marry Rhaegar to Cersei Lannister. Canon-Divergence AU (although there is still plenty of sex and death.) </p>
<p>We'll be adding ships and characters as they appear. There are a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything Will Glow

Everyone knew that Harrenhal was cursed, just as everyone knew that House Whent would be dead within a few years, but that didn’t stop them from flocking to the tournament there anyway. People would have been kidding themselves if they said that they attended to look at the majesty of House Whent, when in truth they were going to look on the Dragon Prince, said to be one of the most striking men the realm had seen in centuries, and his soon-to-be lady bride who was said to be the most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms.

Those motivations were just as true for the “lady-bride” herself. As Cersei Lannister rode towards Harrenhal that day she felt a tiny twinge of fear in her gut. The last time she had seen the prince she had been dressed in clothes stolen from her brother and practicing with a light wooden sword in the gardens of the Red Keep, thinking no one would spot her. But Rhaegar had found her, and that had been the last time he had seen her for four years. Needless to say, she had not wished to leave him with the impression that she was anything less than the beautiful Queen she was expected to be, and not the scrawny, boyish child she had seemed. But it couldn’t be helped then. Now it was Cersei’s chance to prove him wrong, a chance to prove that she could be the queen she needed to be.

Jamie rode up besides her, looking beautiful in his usual gold and red. Part of Cersei was angry that she would never see him again in those colors. Only white from now on, the color of purity and virginity, neither of which could ever describe her brother.

He smirked at her, “Come sister, why such a long face?”

Cersei tossed her long golden hair down her back. “I don’t have a long face, I’m just thinking.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows, “And what would my sister have to think about? About what color red to wear on which day? Or how best to make the common people adore you?”

Cersei wrinkled her nose at her brother in mock anger, “I’m thinking of ways to make Prince Rhaegar see me as a woman and someone worthy of being his Queen.” Of course, she knew that that would bother her beloved twin, and despite the things they had told themselves in the many nights they’d spent together, there were more important things than their love. Truer things. Like the love of a Prince. Or a King for his Queen, as Rhaegar would be in a few years.

Jamie started and pulled up his reins then set off at a quick trot to catch up with Cersei as she pulled ahead.

“Love you? You want him to love you? Why on earth do you need him to love you? You already have my love, isn’t that enough?” 

Cersei shook her head and regarded her brother. She swallowed the echo of sadness as she beheld this boy, soon to be a man, who had been her lover for so many years. Yet part of her knew that if Rhaegar loved her then she would be happier, and so it was with pride and just a bit of scorn that she responded to her brother, “He is to be my husband and I am to be his Queen, so if you would kindly shut up about it, and get over it, yes I do want my husband to love me so that I can have a chance at happiness.”

Jamie looked at her like a wounded puppy dog, “What about me? Won't I be enough for you?”

Cersei looked at her brother and felt a great weight in her heart. “But Rhaegar will be my husband and the greatest reward a women can have is the love of her husband.” Gods, she sounded like the septa she had so long despised growing up.

Jaime quieted at her comment, not sure what to say when faced with Cersei's indomitable pride. Of course, he wanted her to be happy and to be loved, but he wanted to give her that happiness, not this Prince who had ignored them growing up, and had so often brushed Cersei aside. How could he make her any happier? Before he could voice his concerns, however, their father rode up demanding that she get into the litter so that none of the noble lords would see Tywin Lannister’s daughter riding about on a horse like some wildling girl. Compliantly, Cersei retreated to behind the veil of her litter. 

The noise increased as they drew closer to Harrenhal, and Cersei’s stomach churned a moment before she contained herself. She deserved to be here, in all the splendor her family could provide. Possibly in less than a year she could be their Princess, and she would be revered. A little thing like nerves wouldn’t get in the way of that. 

\---

To many the tourney at Harrenhal was an excuse to see the pageantry of the ruling families on display, and to join in a moment of revelry in the midst of the Summer peace. As much as peace was safe, it was a boring affair, and watching a joust was a close to a war as many believed they would get. But there were deeper motives at play, known to a select handful in the upper echelons of Westerosi society. To them, the tourney was the cover for a meeting the Prince had finally had the gall to call. 

Rhaegar Targaryen was not a man that most dared cross. When he was a boy he had been an avid reader and all that he had wanted to do was become a scholar like Bealor the Blessed, but then he had learned and he had grown, and now he was not only a scholar but also a warrior and a Prince. The Crown Prince. He was a man to be feared. That didn't mean the conversation he was about to have didn't unnerve him slightly. Lord Tywin Lannister, along with Lords Doran Martell and Mace Tyrell were waiting for him in a small room off in a corner of the great ruin. Rhaegar knew that he should have asked a Stark, but they were too invested in their damned honor to agree to a plan like this, and so he would have to wait. He entered the room to find all of the men already there and standing around a table, except for Doran Martell who was already seated. 

Rhaegar coolly examined the men facing him; with a small half smile curling up the side of his face, and then spoke in a drawling voice, his long strides carrying him to the chair at the head of the table. 

“Well gentlemen we had best get on with this meeting, my father will realize at some point that I am not, precisely, where I should be.”

Mace Tyrell laughed nervously while Doran simply leaned back in his chair. Rhaegar was more invested in watching Tywin. The man was looking at him coolly, as if he were already making calculations for what could be gained or lost by what Rhaegar was about to suggest. But that was the Lannisters for you, everything in cost and benefits, brilliantly strategic and cold. Rhaegar figured that only Tywin had any idea what was happening and that although Doran may have some idea, Mace was clueless. 

Tywin took a seat at Rhaegar’s right while Mace moved to the only remaining seat.

“I can guess that you all have figured out exactly why I asked you to join me today.” He began, resting his long hands together and folding each finger over the next slowly. 

Mace continued to look confused while Doran nodded absent mindedly. Only Tywin answered him directly. “Obviously.”

Rhaegar nodded and then began to speak, carefully gauging all of the men’s’ reaction to his words.

“My father has sat on the Iron Throne for 19 years and thus far his reign has been competent if only for the reason that his hand was able to restrain him. Now we face two small problems, the first concerned with only you, Lord Tywin. I know that you are upset at your sons’ appointment to the Kingsguard, but after you left your position, well…” he paused only to sigh and stretch out his fingers, “The past few months have not gone well. My father was once a good and kind man I like to believe, but over the past few years that has begun to change. I know that he was always an eccentric man, but things have gone to far. He seems to believe that everyone is out to get him or about to betray him for some reason or another. He has become fascinated with burning prisoners instead of merely beheading them, and the men for the Kingsguard have told me that he often says the same thing in his sleep over and over again, ‘burn them, burn them all.’ I have come to you today with a proposal that I need each of your help to execute. My father cannot be allowed to sit on the throne of the Seven kingdoms for much longer. I would ask your assistance in removing my father from the throne.”

The Lords were silent for a moment. Of course, it was exactly what Tywin had expected to hear. He had been the hand to hold back the King for many years, and knew of his...ailments. “I don’t believe this is a new issue, entirely,” he spoke flatly, proudly although he was addressing the Prince. “It is something that has been an ongoing problem, one that took much effort to restrain.” He frowned at Rhaegar, not betraying his intentions just yet. Of course, the King needed to be removed, and it wouldn’t be a bad decision for his own family, considering his daughter was set to marry the prince, and would make a favorable Queen. “Of course, removing him without causing a great upset is a rather cumbersome problem. I suppose that is why you’re requesting our assistance?”

Rhaegar nodded, sitting up more as the old Lion spoke. He had feared the man as a boy, but much less so now. “Yes. I don’t think we can simply...remove him.” He made sure his voice didn’t falter, having thought much over this particular aspect of the problem. King Aerys, father or not, was no longer a good man nor a good King. Had he not been King, they would have been at this point ages ago, had kinslaying or regicide been any easier Rhaegar would have already removed his father. “He needs to die, inconspicuously, and preferably accidentally. We can’t risk the threat of causing a rebellion or weakening the power of the Throne.”

“And you propose we pledge our allegiance to you, here and now?” Tywin asked, still placid as if he were discussing the latest harvest or sales. 

“Yes. As the next in the line-”

“I don’t mean to question your legitimacy.” Why would he, when he stood to purely benefit, “merely your intent at this meeting. We can hardly kill him now.”

“Oh.” The Prince faltered a moment, his old apprehension around Tywin returning. “I understand. Yes, I think that would be the right course of action, and we could move most speedily past this, without incident.”

Mace for the first time spoke up. “Prince Rhaegar, don’t get me wrong. I think that you are a good man and would made an able king but what you’re suggesting, well your grace, it’s regicide! One of the worst crimes.”

Rhaegar leaned forward, smirking. He had expected this reaction from this man and knew exactly how to play him. “Tell me, my lord, if you had a man who had confessed to a small crime of stealing some weapons to protect his shop, what would you do to him?”

Mace shrugged, “Have his hand cut of I suppose.”

“Yes, that would be the logical course.” Rhaegar leaned forward, “My father had him roasted slowly over the spit as if he were a cow or a lamb because some voice in his head said this man was a traitor. He said that all the traitors must burn. He says everyone must, so tell me, my Lord, do you think that everyone should burn?”

Tyrell’s face had become white as snow. He spluttered for several seconds before answering, “No my lord, I do not.”

Rhaegar shifted his attention to Doran who was still silent. “And what do you think, my Lord?”

Doran look up and regarded him for a few moments, stone faced and unblinking. “Well the only logical course here is to get rid of him, my Lord. I doubt there could ever be another.”

Rhaegar nodded, “Good, then if you wouldn’t mind swearing oaths, my lords?”

Rhaegar left a few minutes later with a satisfied smile on his face. He had what he had come here for, now all he needed was an opportunity to kill the king.

\---

Outside the meeting room, the action of the tournament was commencing. The arrivals of Prince Rhaegar and Cersei Lannister (a mere hour apart, though the two weren’t seen together once. In fact, Cersei had yet to be seen since her litter pulled in) had ended the waiting for those attending the celebration, and now the revelry was set to commence. Of course, the women rarely watched the jousts themselves unless a favored knight or lord was participating, and considering the Prince wouldn’t be jousting until much later, most of their attention was elsewhere. 

That was certainly true for Cersei, who was too busy contemplating if the dress that had been chosen sent the right first impression. She didn’t want to be too scandalous, or appear too easy and common. But at the same time there was an expected amount of youthful decadence and frivolity… it couldn’t be bothered with now, considering she was already in the seats appointed to her family. Jaime was nowhere in her sights, most likely he’d already found a knight to play squire to for the day. Which left her alone in the stands, staring out at the crowd and fastidiously avoiding casting her gaze to either the Baratheons on her left (she could feel Robert’s eyes on her… it made her skin crawl) or the Starks on her right.

“Robert why don’t you slide down the bench a little so I can sit next to Lady Cersei?” came a woman’s voice from her left. A woman with dark brown hair and grey eyes took the seat that had just been vacated by the Baratheon lord. 

“Hello Cersei.” 

She sighed, turning her head belatedly to look at the woman, if you could call her that with the simple way she was dressed, at her left. “Lyanna,” She nodded, knowing who she was from her looks alone, even if she’d yet to properly meet her. Her expression remained cool and aloof though, and she kept the appearance of being too good for the conversation.

Lyanna seemed completely oblivious to Cersei’s tone, smiling warming at her. “Tell me, Cersei, have you and Prince Rhaegar set a date yet?” Cersei felt a little taken aback. “Oh, don’t worry I’m sure there is no pressure, but I heard that he had a meeting with Doran Martell and they say that Elia Martell is one of the most beautiful women in the Seven kingdoms.”   
Cersei didn’t miss the meaning behind her words, and had she been more like the sigil of her house a snarl would have risen in her throat. But she held back, smiling coolly. “Considering my father was also in that particular meeting, I can assure you Elia was not the topic of discussion. The same is often said of me after all, maybe you as well,” she arched a brow, “Though I haven’t heard.”

Lyanna looked at Cersei with a cool gaze that spoke of northern frost. “Yes and the same is often said of Catelyn Tully in the Riverlands and of Queen Rhaella in the Crownlands, we are each the most beautiful to our own people. Of course there is the fact that Rhaegar is an older man and most likely doesn’t want a blushing maiden in his bed, and I’m sure Elia is not a maiden. I have heard they are much freer in Dorne. Tell me Cersei, do you think you could please your royal husband?”

For a moment the young lioness was silent, and tempted to leave the conversation before she let her tongue slip. But she was not one to back down from a fight or admit defeat. “I’m not one to blush,” she told her with a small smirk. “But I don’t think your question is one appropriate for such a public setting, do you? Although, given your companion,” she inclined her head in Robert’s direction, “I suppose it’s something you speak of often?”

Lyanna laughed, not the dainty one that high ladies often used about each other but a real laugh. “Oh Cersei, we are women, we don’t get to chose who we marry or what sort of men we spend our lives with. We are not mistresses of our fates. But,” she lowered her voice, “I will admit that my husband is not the most proper in his deeds, but then again who said I am either.” Cersei’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Back in the north they said that I was half horse, I believe the Stormlords think that I am all horse.”

“I can… hardly imagine that is something to take pride in,” She muttered, shaking her head. As brazen as she and Jaime were, and as much as she often used her beauty to get the things she wanted, she was raised to be a lady, to be a Queen, and she was surprised by Lyanna’s frankness. “Though manners must be a different matter entirely in the Stormlands.” Her gaze flitted back to the Baratheons and she scowled.

“I wouldn’t dare speak ill of my husband or his bannermen. But I will say that in the north there would never have been so much blindness in following a liege. In the North honor and respect are something you earn, though in the South it seems to be rather… different. More about blood than deeds, more about name than manner. Do you find this to be true dear Cersei?”

“You’ve seen little of the South,” Cersei replied smoothly. “And I find manner and blood to be equally important. Ones understanding of honor may influence that, however. There is more respect here, I think.” She regarded Lyanna closely for a moment and raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you miss the wildness of the North? The Stormlands are wild themselves.”

“Well I know that in the north a man would not leave his position because his son was given a great honor, and a younger son would have to do as heir instead.” Lyanna’s gaze was pointed. “Although I think we may have very similar conceptions of honor when it comes to husbands. I do not miss the wilderness of the North, that is not what I am drawn to, no rather I miss the freedom. There I could control my own fate and I was no man’s slave.”

Her expression shifted from offense to surprised pity, and then back to it’s glacial mask. “Am I to infer that you consider yourself your husband’s slave from that?” She opted not to speak to the criticism of her father, though she could make mention to him of the way his decision was viewed. But the notion of being a slave stuck in her head, even if she had not been afforded many freedoms in the last few years. She had been invested in becoming a proper woman, a proper queen, and rarely resented the lack of control, believing she would gain power in the end. The notion of that proving false was unnerving.

Lyanna looked straight ahead pretending to watch the joust, “And tell me Cersei, if you had my husband then what would you consider yourself? And no matter what, we women are slaves, we spend our time preparing to give men sons and to sew in some room in his castle for the rest of our lives, tell me, how would you think of yourself if you had no free will? Why do you think all young girls are so attracted to all the songs, the gallant knight who saves the maiden from the boring life as some mans lady wife, tell me that doesn’t sound appealing.” 

Cersei’s lips pursed before she followed Lyanna’s gaze to the men charging at each other on the course, lances dropped to pierce armor… or not to, really, although that would make for a much better show. Her thoughts turned macabre, her stomach dropping. Of course, she had considered the songs, and some more childish part of her still believed that her marriage would be like them, just as she had as a girl who drew herself on the back of a dragon. She rallied after a moment, “I hardly think that taking to our duties makes us slaves. And isn’t it better to marry a high lord or a prince than a common man, and be burdened with poverty and too many mouths to feed, along with the monotony? A husband who loves you and enables a small measure of power is better than that.” She sounded like her septa again, but those words she had to believe. “You have free will, Lyanna, if not as much as you did back in Winterfell.”

Lyanna seemed to tense for a minute but Cersei couldn't quite read why. “Your septa has taught you well Cersei, but tell me, has she taught you about what its really like to lie with a man? What its like when you are beneath him and he has full control and nothing you do can make him stop? When he will take what he wants no matter what? Do you know anything of lying with a man, dear?”

The scene Lyanna spoke of was nothing like Cersei recalled with Jaime, unless she requested it from him. And even then she had control. She couldn't not speak the truth. "I couldn't exactly tell you if I did, can I?" She waited, seeing Lyanna look surprised and then shake her head, and then dropped her voice so she wouldn't be heard. "I know what it's like, well, in fact. But I have not found it to be like that at all." 

Lyanna smiled, "Then the man you chose to lie with loves you well, or he cares for you deeply. A man like Robert might profess love but he will always take what is his and view the women as a slave. Maybe Rhaegar is different. If so you are a very special girl, and lucky. But I must ask if you are not a maid, what do you plan on telling your husband the morning after?" 

Cersei nodded to her words, knowing that that very well may be the case. "Not all men are like Robert," she murmured, before blushing and glancing at Lyanna. This was one consideration she hadn't thought of yet. "What do I plan on telling him the morning after? Why would I need to tell him anything?" She looked confused. "I can shed a few tears if he needs that much convincing in the act, but I don't see why after...?"

“Oh child, either your septa taught you nothing or you are purposely ignoring this. A woman bleeds the first time in a way that she will never bleed again. I have heard of girls who break their maidenheads horse riding, but is anyone likely to believe that with you?” Lyanna shook her head in exasperation, “your father should have taken another wife so he would at least have someone to teach you all this! You need to fake it, Rhaegar is rather experienced from what i have heard, and so I would recommend that you think of a solution and fast.”

She swallowed and tried to think back to the first time she had fooled around with her brother that way. "I don't recall that part..." She murmured quietly, "but you're sure he'll expect it? I'm sure not all girls bleed...and not all men pay attention. I could just distract him and make sure he doesn't think of it. It would hardly be hard. And it would be better than lying to him." She frowned sharply. "And don't call me a child."

Lyanna smiled, "Until a man puts his cloak around your shoulders promising to protect you, you are a child. As to the other issue, you may be able to distract him that night, but what about the next morning! The castle servants, not to mention your husband, will expect blood on the sheets."

Cersei frowned and pressed her hands together in her lap. It wasn't her fault her father desired her to wait before she married the prince, or that Rhaegar was more indecisive than she would have liked. "Then I'll fake it. I'll wake up first and cut my palm or something to make it look as though I bled." She kept her voice low, not wanting to be overheard. 

Lyanna nodded, "Smart, but cut somewhere he won't see for awhile, where none will see. And you have to make sure you can fake virginity in the bridal bed." Lyanna stopped seemingly lost in thought for a minute, when she spoke her voice was soft, "Do you love Rhaegar the way you love the man who took your maidenhood?"

She nodded, waving her hand to the first piece of advice, "obviously." She looked slightly concerned though. "Fake virginity? As in pain? I already said I could cry. And of course I love him. I love him more than..." She caught herself, grateful she hadn't revealed her brothers name and that he hadn't overheard. "He'll be my husband. And the king."

Lyanna suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, “As I said before it is not the title which makes the man. Just because Rhaegar is a prince does not mean he is a good man. Even if Rhaegar has never taken a maiden into his bed he has been trained as to what to expect. Crying may be enough.”

Cersei cast her eyes to Lyanna with a glare. “Do you truly think such a beloved Prince could be anything less than a good man? He’s not the King.” But he could be, Jaime’s warning nagged at her mind. She didn’t want to be like Rhaella. “And didn’t you agree I could distract him?”

Lyanna looked at her through narrowed eyes, “Of course you could distract him,” she leaned in close to Cersei’s ear, “the trick is to make it believable.” she leaned back and looked toward the far end of arena, where a knight in silver armour had just road into the tilts. “And it seems, dear girl, that our dragon prince has arrived.”

Cersei's attention immediately snapped to the far end of the tilts, and a softly smug smile settled on her lips, all thoughts of Lyanna far from her mind. That magnificent prince was all hers. A sort of childlike giddiness unfurled in her heart as she watched him ride closer, standing to join the fanfare at his entrance. 

\---

In the haze of the jousts Rhaegar let his mind drift from matters of the court, focusing on his opponents. Of course, the ever-present roar of the crowd was always on his mind, but he paid them less attention than many of the other knights. He didn’t miss the way the women fawned over him when he rode past, or the way they cheered louder for their Prince. Nor did he miss a certain golden-haired Lady, whom he didn’t recognize. But his thoughts were never on them long. 

The prince suspected that Barristan Selmy let him win, for the knight of the Kingsguard was a much better fighter than he appeared on the tilt that day. However, he was pleased with the result, a clean hit. The later joust, the last of the day before the feast was set to commence, was a much fairer fight. Brandon Stark, cocksure and boisterous as he was, was a good warrior, and he fought well. Rhaegar appreciated that the young Lord didn’t weaken his hits or slow his horse simply because he was up against the prince, and they ran three rounds before the silver haired knight toppled the young wolf to plentiful applause. 

Though he wasn’t fond of feasts, it was his obligation as Prince, he also wanted to see who the women with golden hair was. So he donned the red and black of his house along with the slim silver crown that nearly matched his hair, and made his way from the uppermost tower in the ruin to the hall below. Once grand, on a normal day no room in Harrenhal was much to look at, but house Whent had obviously put a tremendous effort into making it look less gruesome. The myriad of Lords and Ladies mingling and dancing about the space didn’t hurt either, and Rhaegar soon found himself swept into one conversation after the next. Better than being dragged into dances with girls barely flowered, desperately clinging to the hope he would find something special in them. Was the prospect of being Queen really worth reducing themselves to objects of a man’s amusement? He managed to make his way to the head table, seated between his father and Tywin, albeit there was a seat between them. He assumed one of the other advisers would take the spot once he too made it through the throng. 

As he ate, his violet eyes drifted to the crowd dancing, and he couldn’t help the annoyance that flared in his chest. The next feast of this sort after the tournament would be his own wedding feast, and if his mother had her way, to a mere child. As rich as the Lannisters were, he didn’t see why they needed a more direct allegiance. Tywin acted for the good of the realm, and Rhaegar saw himself as the best choice to lead. Once Aerys was no longer seated on the throne, there would be no need for the marriage. But his mother would not be persuaded. For heavens sake, when he had mentioned in passing that Elia Martell of Dorne was a much more suitable age, a wiser woman who undoubtedly knew more of the world than Tywin’s daughter, she had nearly screeched his ear off. 

He was distracted from his thoughts, mid bite into a leg of lamb, by the arrival of the golden-haired woman from earlier at the empty seat to his left.

“Father,” Cersei smiled, doing her best to seem calm despite Rhaegar’s eyes on her. “Not out dancing tonight?” Of course, Tywin wouldn’t be, and he merely gave her a raised brow look, a reminder of why she was here. With a breathy laugh she took her seat and spent a minute getting a small sampling of food before she turned to the Prince. “Congratulations on your victories today, your highness.” She smiled, more sultry than sweet.

“Thank you my Lady, I’m sorry I didn't catch your name…” he replied. He had a faint suspicion but he needed to test it.

Cersei chuckled softly and put on a minute pout. “I’m hurt you don’t recall my face, Prince Rhaegar. I did live in your castle as a child.” She sat up straighter and extended her hand. “Cersei Lannister of Casterly Rock.”

Rhaegar’s eyes shot up as he leaned forward, allowing his lips to brush against her hand. It was soft and delicate, not the hand of a girl who played with swords. “You must be mistaken,” He said with a smirk, “Cersei Lannister is a little girl who wore her brother's clothes and played with a sword. This cannot be who that little girl grew up to be.”

She smirked and repressed the blush threatening to rise in her cheeks. “Oh, I’m afraid it is you who are mistaken. It has been years, my Prince… a lot can change in such a long time. I seem to remember you as far more… lanky than you are now.”

“Well if you are allowed to grow up then so am I.” He smiled. She was wearing a dress that was of red silk with only hints of gold detail. Part of him knew it was to prove that she could wear his house colors and part of him did note how beautiful she looked in red. “Now tell me who do you think will be winning this tourney?”

Her smirk softened as he looked at her, a light blush creeping up onto the fair skin of her neck. “I don’t think anyone would dare take the title from you, my Lord,” she hummed, an almost teasing tone to it. “And seeing as you have defeated the only boy brazen enough to do so earlier today…”

“Oh you insult me, my Lady, nobody would let me win, a joust is always a fair fight!” He leaned in with a smirk on his face and whispered, “At least not until I’m king.”

She arched a manicured brow and her smirk stayed in place, even as she fought to control her breathing with the Prince so close. “Something tells me that won’t be long from now,” she whispered, not wanting Aerys to overhear. “But still, those left to compete against you wouldn’t dare risk angering the dragon would they?” He used to tease Jaime about that as kids, when they were but six or seven.

Rhaegar tensed a little but maintained his cool composure, his father had taken to saying that nobody should anger the dragon while he was in his fits. Still he kept his eyes fixed on Cersei as he replied in a low voice that bordered on a growl, “No I would hope that they would not. Then again who knows, have you ever seen a dragon angered?”

Cersei couldn’t tamp down the shiver his voice sent down her spine, and it wasn’t a shiver of fear. “I can’t say I have. Nor that I would ever want to.” She smiled up at him softly. “It may be an interesting sight, though I will say I prefer you like this, or while playing your harp. You still play don’t you?”

Rhaegar nodded, “Of course I still play, and if you play your cards right I will play for you later.” Part of Rhaegar was trying to remember that Cersei was still six years younger than he, but the part that didn’t care was winning.

She smiled, still making sure it wasn’t the smile of a simpering and smitten maiden. Cersei could tell that she was slowly winning his interest, and she didn’t want to slip up. “And how do you suggest I ‘play my cards right?’” She nearly purred, her emerald eyes still on his.

He chuckled, “Well that would ruin the point wouldn’t it. It’s rather like a game. You can’t play the game if you already know the winner, can you?” His lilac eyes glittered in the candlelight as he laughed.

Cersei laughed with him, shaking her head delicately and smiling up at him. “But you already know the rules of the game, my Lord. Give me a hint, I promise I catch on quickly.”

“Tell me, what sort of hint do you want? There are many different ways for you to win, each has its own rules and its own way of playing. You choose which game you want to play and I promise that I will give you a hint.”

She paused for a moment, humming in thought. “Well, there are far too many games that we can’t play at a feast, are there?” Both their fathers were listening, she was sure. “Why don’t you dance with me and we can play there?”

The Prince eyed her for a minute. He normally hated dancing the way that the girls seemed to throw themselves at him on the floor. He examined Cersei; she looked like a proper lady who was always delicate and graceful. He quickly formed and idea and a smile spread across his lips. “Fine, I will dance with you. But there is one little thing that I demand.”

With the way he made her wait, her placid smirk faltered slightly, until he agreed. She cocked her head slightly and looked confused. “How Kingly of you.” She teased gently, “What is this demand?”

He leaned in a whispered in her ear, “I get to pick the dance.”

Cersei looked confused for a moment, before she relaxed and smiled at him, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “As you wish. I hope you aren’t trying to make me trip, my Lord.”

He laughed, “I hope you won’t.” He pushed back his chair and extended his hand. “Come.” 

She took his hand and followed him as he lead her toward the dance floor. The song had just finished and the dancers were still clapping. They all moved aside for the prince and Rhaegar lead her right to the middle of the dance floor. Everyone else had moved to the edge of the dance floor, more interested in watching than dancing. 

He left her there with everyone staring at her. Cersei raised her chin and tried not to blush with so many eyes on her. Her eyes tracked Rhaegar as he whispered something in the ear of one of the musicians before he returned to her. 

His hand set her skin on fire as he placed his hand on her hip and she moved automatically to place her hand on his shoulder while he took her left hand in his. There they stood for a moment as the high Lords and Ladies of Westeros watched them, many with a measure of jealousy in their eyes (for either of the pair, in fact. As many of the men envied Rhaegar as the women did Cersei). Then the musicians began to play and Rhaegar pulled her close as they began to dance.

He had picked a fast Dornish song that had them whirling about the dance floor. At first Cersei was tense, aware that this song was not one that a Lady would normally dance to. She almost tripped several times and cursed herself for allowing Rhaegar to pull her into this mess; she should have remembered that he was always pulling pranks on her. 

At some point she met Rhaegar’s eyes and he was smiling, a smile that made the corner of his eyes crinkle. Cersei laughed out loud, forgetting that there were people watching her and that her father and brother were both observing her. She let her fear of being improper go, for the moment. All the tension in her body slipped away and all she could focus on was the dance and how close Rhaegar was. 

\--- 

The buzzing of her skin still hadn’t left by the time of the final joust, and she sat smirking next to Lyanna as Rhaegar trotted onto the tilts, proud on his white horse. She only briefly cast her eyes to his opponent, the mystery Knight of the Laughing Tree. Everyone seated in the stands already knew who the victor would be.

And hopefully, whom he would crown Queen of Love and Beauty. The series of dances between Cersei and Rhaegar at the feast the first night of the tourney, and their subsequent closeness (he’d rarely been seen without her unless in a meeting or a joust) had all but confirmed that he intended to go through with their betrothal. The rumors of Elia Martell as challenger for Queen had been put to rest. And all eyes were on the silver haired prince as he rode into the arena, the red and gold sash tied over the glinting silver of his arm brilliantly apparent. Even if he didn’t need the luck, the obviousness of the Lady of House Lannister's token was rather final.

Cersei simply smirked as the eyes of the crowd flitted to her, but soon collective attention was drawn to the track. Though she was hoping for her Prince to knock this mysterious challenger off of his horse on the first run, she still cheered for the direct hit to the man’s helm, grinning from ear to ear. By the second run her grin had subsided to a tight-lipped seriousness, watching Rhaegar take a hit to his face had not been the most enjoyable of sights. The third run had the Lords and Ladies on their feet, leaning over the rails and immersed in the pounding of the horses hooves as they charged at each other. Lances were lowered, and there was a resounding clang of metal as the Knight of the Laughing tree went tumbling off his steed, just barely missing the trampling hooves. After a moment of silence the crowd erupted into applause, roses and other flowers being tossed to the Dragon Prince. 

Cersei held the deep red rose to her chest, waiting as Rhaegar circled the tilts and removed his helmet, a bright grin on his face. Once he reached her in the stands her smile grew and she leaned over to hand him the rose. “Congratulations,” she murmured, watching his violet eyes, which she’d come to be much more comfortable around in the previous ten days. “I told you you would win.”

Rhaegar smiled then turned to his right and accepted the crown of blue winter roses from the squire at his side. He leaned forward and smiled, holding the crown out to her, “My lady, will you let me crown you?” 

Of course, she’d been expecting him to crown her, but she still couldn’t help the giddiness that leapt into her heart. “Of course, my Lord.” She smiled brightly, leaning forward further still. In a few months she would be more than Queen of Love and Beauty, but quite possibly Queen of the realm as well.

Rhaegar watched as Cersei leant forward. He smiled and carefully lifted the crown of roses onto her head. “I name you the Queen of Love and Beauty.” Rhaegar said as he winked at Cersei. He wasn’t sure if Tywin saw it or not but he could tell that Lyanna had. 

Cersei allowed a blush to color her cheeks as he placed the crown on her head, and she wished it were a more private space so she could respond in kind. She settled for a soft smile instead of a soft kiss, murmuring “Thank you” to her prince and returning the wink he gave her, her heart hammering in her chest. 

Jaime Lannister had watched his beloved sister flirt and seduce the Price for over a week, offering the silver haired man smiles that in the past had only been for him. Watching him crown her only reminded him of what was to come. He’d be losing her to the Dragon, and nothing could stop that. In only ten days she’d already forgotten him, what would it be like after she was wed? He tore his gaze from her and angrily to the scene before him, where Gerold Hightower had stepped before Aerys and Rhaegar, the later still smirking at Cersei. 

Gerold Hightower looked down at the young man kneeling before him. As much as he hated to admit it, seeing this young boy be named to the Kingsguard made him feel old. Carefully he drew his great sword and placed it on the young knight’s shoulders as if he were knighting him afresh. “Ser Jaime Lannister, do you swear to: protect the king from harm or threat, provide the same Kingsguard protection to royals, lovers, mistresses and bastards, if so directed by the king,follow orders from the king, other royals, the Hand and the Small Council, serve the king's pleasure, keep the king's secrets, protect the king's name and honour, and maintain chastity. Do you swear to all of this and wish to become a member of the Kingsguard?”

Jaime looked up at the old knight in front of him without a hint of deceit. Yes, his father disapproved of him giving up land and title and his position as heir of Casterly Rock to be a glorified bodyguard, but he was committed to it. Not only because he was one of the best knights, despite being the youngest. But more so because it would mean he would never have to leave Cersei. While she was making her vows to Rhaegar, or would be soon, this was his way of making his vows to her. “I swear.” He spoke firmly, loud enough that the crowd could hear, and without hesitation. And the vow was true, though a large part of him hoped the chastity would not be for long once Cersei came to her senses. 

Ser Hightower nodded, “Then rise Ser Jaime, knight of the kingsguard!”


	2. You've Got Something Coming

As Cersei Lannister was preparing to head west to marry her dragon and be crowned at Rhaegar Targaryen's side, another man was preparing to be a king. As the great lords of the west headed east for the wedding and the smaller lords followed in their footsteps, another man was calling his banners to him.

In the Sunset Sea sit seven islands, barely inhabitable stony masses surrounded by a raging ocean. The people are fierce and strong, they take what they need, they are made of iron and they always pay the iron price. These are the ironborn inhabitants of the Iron Islands.

As the lords of the west moved south and east to the capital the ironborn were gathering on Old Wyk. They gathered on Nagga’s hill where ages ago the great sea dragon Nagga had died. Now only her ribs remained, coming out of the ground like immense white trees. In past when there was still a kingsmoot to choose the kings of the islands they held the ceremony here. Today they were here for a very similar reason.

Balon Greyjoy, lord of the Iron Islands was crowning himself king. He had decided to rise up against the Iron throne, the Targaryen dynasty, and the new way. For him the royal wedding was the perfect opportunity. All the Western lords were flocking to Kings Landing at the command of Tywin Lannister, the coast was virtually undefended. 

After Harrenhal Lord Greyjoy had spent many hours secluded with his most loyal men as well as his brothers and sons. To them this was the only chance they would get for many years. They had lived to long in the yoke of Targaryen control, they vowed they would return their homeland to the old ways.

As Balon Greyjoy knelt before Tarle the thrice-drowned, priest of the Drowned God, and was crowned with the driftwood crown, the ironborn cheered. They had a King, a true King who would sit on the Sea Stone chair and rule using the old way. They were free again. 

Within an hour his fleet was in motion, preparing to launch the attack, and a raven had been sent to Kings Landing proclaiming that the Iron Islands would no longer kneel before the Iron throne.  
\--

Rhaegar was in a meeting with his father when Grand Maester Pycelle entered. He turned from his father as the old Maester entered watching as Lords Rickard Stark, Hoster Tully, Tywin Lannister, Robert Baratheon, and Mace Tyrell hurried into the room after them. Varys and Littlefinger were not far behind. Rhaegar rose and watched the men. 

It was clear to him that all but Varys where confused as to what was going on. Even Littlefinger looked uncharacteristically nervous. Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed as he beheld the spider. Whatever had caused Pycelle to interrupt this meeting must be very bad, and Rhaegar had a sneaking suspicion that the spider already knew, and had chosen not to tell. 

Maester Pycelle presented the King with several letters he had received, all in the last hour. Aerys glanced at them suspiciously as he took them although his eyes widened a moment later, his surprise at the words apparent. He handed them to Rhaegar and the Prince felt a stone settle in his stomach.

Rhaegar cleared his throat and raised his head to the assembled men, “It’s a good thing my wedding isn’t scheduled for another six months.” he said, attempting a joke, which fell flat. “It appears that Balon Greyjoy has declared himself King, claiming that the Iron born would only be ruled by Iron born and that they would once more result to the old way.” Rhaegar did not miss the look that passed between Tywin Lannister and Rickard Stark. These men had lands closest to the islands and stood to lose the most if the old way was taken up again. 

“Lets strike them back!” Robert yelled, thumping his fist down on the table. It shook with the impact and an inkpot fell over.

Tywin Lannister ground his teeth. “And how do you propose to do that Lord Baratheon? The Iron Islanders are raiding up and down the coast as we speak. I doubt they will leave the ships in Lannisport safe in their harbors.”

Robert rolled his eyes, “That doesn’t matter, the point is we strike back, we don’t let them get away with this.” He looked to Rhaegar for support. As much as he disliked the man, Rhaegar had to agree with him. 

“Lord Tywin,” Rhaegar interrupted before a fight could escalate, “You know as well as I do that the Westerlands will be ravaged by this war should the Iron Islanders be left free to roam as they will. I agree with Lord Baratheon, we cannot allow this dissent to go unmet. I suggest you write home and set in place defenses as quickly as possible.”

Tywin nodded swiftly, “I will also tell my men in the capital to make their way home at once. Our lands are largely undefended right now. Our men returning will be very helpful.”

Rhaegar nodded, then he turned to look at the other men, and “I suggest the rest of you write your bannermen, we must prepare for war.”

As the men left Aerys spoke for the first time, so only Pycelle and Rhaegar heard him. He whispered in a hoarse voice, like that of a dying man, speaking in tongues more befitting of snakes. “Burn them,” he hissed, “Burn them all.”

\--

Victarion Greyjoy truly began the war, burning the ships in harbor at Lannisport. It put the throne at a disadvantage as they had planned on using the fleet to attack the Iron Islands. With the Lannister Lord and Host in the capitol, there was little that could be done to prevent such action, and they should have known it was coming. 

Aerys received the raven from Lannisport and flew into a rage. All across the Red Keep people could hear him yelling, calling Rhaegar a fool, saying they should have attacked faster, and calling Owen Merryweather the worst hand to have ever lived for not warning him of the dissent on the islands. 

That night Owen Merryweather was given to the flames and Jaime was forced to listen again as Queen Rhaella was raped. The Kings rages were well known throughout the kingdoms, the rumors of his madness spreading far faster than the fears of war. The death of the Hand would only fuel these fires, the threat of destruction, implosion, strengthening in the minds of the people. 

The next day Jon Connington was made Hand of the King and Rhaella flew to Dragonstone with Viserys to protect the babe she carried. 

Rhaegar and Tywin were quick to regroup. They ordered Mace Tyrell to bring ships from the Reach, Doran Martell also sent as many as he could, albeit reluctantly. Less than a week after the letter was received the war plan was finalized. Rhaegar and Tywin would lead the war while Lord Stark would take care of the van with Lord Baratheon. 

Rickard had often thought that if Rhaegar and Tywin ever worked together they would be an unstoppable force, which would hopefully prove to be true. By the time the men were marching to the Westerlands where they would all gather, Balon Greyjoy had launched another attack.  
\--

The iron fleet had been raiding up and down the coasts since the burning of the fleet in Lannisport. They took freely from the Riverlands, the Westerlands, and the Stoney shore. Now Balon was ready for a new assault to be launched, he sent his son and heir, Rodrick Greyjoy, to the town of Seagard in the Riverlands. 

Brandon Stark had been visiting his bride-to-be Catelyn Tully in the Riverlands before they made their way to the Red Keep. When the news of the rebellion reached Riverrun, Brandon rode with his bannermen to Seagard to defend the coast from the reavers.

He reached the castle at noon two days after the fleet burned in Lannisport with 500 men at his back. They were quickly stationed throughout the town. With the added forces Jason Mallister didn’t believe that the ironborn would be able to touch them. Still they waited, watching the ocean waiting for signs of longships coming over the waves.

They had their test just one day later when Rodrick Greyjoy, son arrived with a fleet of ironborn to take the town. Seagard was the gate to the interior of the Riverlands, Balon knew that if he seized it quickly and could keep it, he had a good shot of holding off the River Lords.

The great bell that hung in the town, the Booming tower, was rung for the first time in nearly a hundred years. The Ironborn cheered as they heard it carried over the waves, laughing as the greenlanders flew from them. They did not expect to find the town well defended.

The reavers surged ashore and were able to push their way up to the walls of the castle. Just before the battle Jason had the Stark men back to the castle walls so that they would surprise the islanders once they were ashore. 

When the Reavers reached the castle and saw the Stark banners, it did not slow their approach, they rushed on anyway, into a wall of glistening northern spears as the battle was joined. 

The battle was fierce and all three of the commanders fought through in search of their rivals. Brandon and Rodrik met first. Both were skilled fighters and they seemed to be evenly matched, they fought for several minutes trading blows back and forth but never able to draw blood. Brandon had always had the wolf blood in him, which is why his men had met the reavers in battle; he felt he could beat the Iron born. 

But as Brandon stepped back to avoid a potentially finishing blow he slipped in a rather blood soaked patch of grass and fell. Jason Mallister saw Rodrik’s sword arch through the air like a snake. Brandon’s neck opened the same as any other man's would. 

Jason saw Brandon’s death and chased Rodrik through the battle and they met just before the gate. Rodrik was a strong fighter but his skill was on the ocean and beneath the walls of the castle, on dry land, Jason held the upper hand.

They fought before the gates for several minutes, until eventually Rodrik began to tire. His sword became heavier to lift with every swing. By the time Jason delivered the death blow through his stomach it felt through every swing of the sword was him lifting a ship over his head.

After Rodriks death the remaining ironborn fled into the ocean and returned to their islands.

Lord Hoster heard of Brandon’s death, he immediately demanded that Eddard Stark marry his daughter to uphold the alliance, Rickard wanted to protect his southern interests and agreed before even once asking his son. 

Then Rickard swore revenge on those who had killed his son. 

\--  
After Tywin smashed the majority of the ironborn at Fair Isle, the commanders sailed to the Iron Islands themselves. Ser Barristen, newly commander of the kingsguard and Stannis Baratheon subdued the majority of the islands. All that was left was Pyke and its castle within the walls of which Balon Greyjoy and his two remaining sons were hiding.  
The night of the final siege, Rhaegar called a war council. When Robert Baratheon heard he headed for the commanders tent, but a pretty redhead caught his eye and before he knew it he was running late. He was learning that the Iron born women were more fun than many he had met. He checked off yet another kingdom on his list, he wished to bed a girl from all seven kingdoms and the riverlands, he only had Dorne left.

His thoughts did not turn to Lyanna as he hurried along the cliffs to the commander's tent. He was now running a good half hour late. He smiled as he gazed out at the rough ocean, and where it met the stars in the distance. Looking at the darkness his thoughts wandered back to the Vale, he wondered how his daughter was. He couldn’t remember her name for the life of him, but he remembered her hair. As black as night, with Baratheon blue eyes. He decided after the wedding he would go to visit her. 

He entered the tent and was met with Rhaegar Targaryen icy gaze. From the way the men around the table were looking at him he knew that they knew exactly where he had been. He moved to sit by his friends but found that his best friend, Eddard Stark was sitting in between his father lord Rickard and Tywin Lannister. Robert missed the glare in Eddard’s and Rickard’s eyes as they watched Robert return from his infidelity. They sat to Rhaegar’s right with Tywin sitting directly next to him. 

To the princes left sat lord Hoster Tully along with Mace Tyrell and Jason Mallister. At the foot of the table to Roberts left and right were his younger brother Stannis and Ser Barristen. Both men had distinguished themselves early on and earned a place of honour. Robert resented his brother for the glory he was receiving, as the older sibling the glory should have been given to him. Robert grumbled under his breath as he was forced to take the seat directly opposite Rhaegar and looking right into his haunting purple eyes. 

Rhaegar leaned back and folded his arms, his smirk the most sinister that Robert had ever seen it. “I hope you left the poor girl with something for her troubles, Baratheon. Or did you take after the ironborn and leave her nothing but another one of your bastards?”

Robert glared, had it been anyone other than the crown prince he would have said something. The other lords around the table were all smirking other than Tywin and the Starks. Robert hopped it was because of their affection for him and his bride, Ned’s little sister, but he guessed it was because all three of those men were too serious for the jest.

“Now,” said Rhaegar, leaning forward, “To business. I have decided Baratheon that you shall lead the van tomorrow in breaching the wall along with Lord Rickard. I suggest that you lead the men themselves and Rickard you take care of the catapults.”

Lord Rickard shook his head, “My prince, if you don’t mind, these men killed my eldest son. I loved him dearly and I would like to lead the men through the breach if possible.”  
Rhaegar gave the lord a long glace, sizing him up carefully. Rickard was aging, though he had once been a capable warrior. Rhaegar however was more concerned about letting Robert man the catapults. In the end, however, Rhaegar could not deny the man his wish. 

“You are a capable warrior, and if Robert doesn’t mind than I have no trouble with that,” he told him.

Had it been any other situation Robert would have argued, but looking at the Stark man's face, he could tell that both men were mourning the loss of their family member. The Starks may be icy men, but there was a fire within them that was burning bright. 

The rest of the meeting spent talking about various points of strategy both for the breach as well as for other battles they anticipated. Robert wasn’t paying any attention, he was thinking about the girl he had just fucked and how magnificent her breasts had been.   
\--

The next day the siege on Pyke began. The van battled their way up to where they were just under the walls, to the right of where the breach was supposed to occur. Rickard stood closest to the soon to be breach and it would have ended well if Robert had bothered to pay attention the night before. As it was Robert misaimed the catapult and the rubble fell not in front of Rickard but right on top of him and a few of the men who had been most eager to go through the breach. As Jorah Mormont watched his liege lord disappear under a pile of rubble all he could think was how large a weight was about to fall on Eddard Starks shoulders. Then he realized the wall had been breached and he was running to enter into the castle.

Jorah burst into the courtyard right behind Thoros of Myr whose sword was on fire. He battled fiercily and many a good man fell before this young squire. At some point he met a powerful ironborn, the fiercest he had yet to meet who wielded and axe with terrifying power. Though Jorah did not know it he was facing Maron Greyjoy, Balon’s second son and heir. Ser Barristen witnessed the battle and later told Rhaegar it was as if the gods had given the young man the courage of a dragon. He fought Maron’s axe with his sword until he slipped past the man’s guard and severed his head from the rest of his body in one smooth stroke. Thus Balon lost his second son leaving only his youngest Theon, and thus Jorah Mormont earned his knighthood.

The battle was won shortly after. Jorah received his knighthood kneeling before Prince Rhaegar himself. Balon Greyjoy swore fealty before Lord Tywin Lannister and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen with Lord Eddard Stark standing by. Lord Eddard was given Theon as a ward and hostage to ensure that the Iron islands would remain loyal to the crown.

But one thing had changed on the winning side of the battle. Eddard Stark would never trust Robert Baratheon again. He knew that it was Roberts fault that his father had died and he would never forgive him for that. The Lannisters and the Targaryens had also realized that Robert was not a man to ever be given command again. Thus the first rift between the Baratheons and the other houses was born.  
The men all made their own ways home. The Northern men as well as those from the Riverlands and the Vale of Arryn made their way home via Seagard. The Northerners stopped in Riverrun to witness the marriage between Lord Eddard and Catelyn Tully, whom he had agreed to marry after his brother’s death.

Those from the Reach and Dorne sailed the farthest south to their homes while those from the Stormlands, Crownlands, and Westerlands sailed to Lannisport and made their own way home. But in Kings Landing there was no rest for the weary. There was a wedding to prepare for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey All! This chapters a little shorter so we're updating a week early and then we'll update again next week! Then we'll go back to the every other week schedule.


	3. Act Nice Like A Lady

The king is dead. Long live the king. 

The scars of Aerys reign and the recent rebellion hung over the kingdom in torn banners, those returning from the war as bloodied and bandaged as the few who witnessed the former king’s final descent to madness. A sword in the back is a coward's kill, or so they said, and Cersei couldn’t help but feel the whispered words crawl across her skin like so many ants, the single name swarming her like a host of flies. Kingslayer. Jaime. He did it for me, she thinks, wandering the Red Keep late at night, as she was wont to do. He did it for me so I wouldn’t face Rhaella’s fate, a beast of burden for beatings and rapes. But the act still soiled the Lannister name, so soon before her wedding.

Queen you shall be. The promised words echoed in her ears with each breath in the Keep, each time she saw Rhaegar, proud and resplendent and everything she had ever dreamed of. She wasn’t some blushing maiden, not after so many years at her twin’s hand, but this was the Prince, now the King. It would be different, surely. Jaime, precious and loved as he was, was no Rhaegar. She didn’t imagine the Prince to be the type to frequent the pleasure houses so abundant in King’s Landing, but she also couldn’t conceive the thought of him being inexperienced. He must know things, things her brother couldn’t dream of. No, she wasn’t a blushing nervous maiden, but looking out at the smattering of lantern lights over the city she was blushing, excitement and eagerness making her blood boil and rise to her skin. Queen, and to such a King as ever was. She almost pitied Lyanna Stark, or Baratheon now, for her oaf of a husband. Lyanna who had spoken so frankly to her at Harrenhall, when Rhaegar had been tempted to shirk the betrothal between the Lion and the Dragon. He hadn’t wanted to marry a girl 6 years younger than him, nor have to wait for her to mature so he could marry her. He wanted a wife, and not a girl, but a woman. 

The Prince hadn’t been expecting the brilliance of the Lannisters. Cersei may have been a slightly too tall eleven year old when he’d seen her 4 years before; dressing in her brothers squire’s clothes and playing at swords in the gardens between her lessons, but four years was a long time. Back at Casterly Rock that girl had become a woman worthy of the title of most beautiful, as her father so often promised she was, usually while assuring them both that Rhaegar couldn’t possibly want to break the engagement once he saw her. So the old lion took his twins to the tourney at Harrenhall, his daughter dressed in red silks more decadent than even the royal family was wearing. Lannister gold, filling the royal coffers and marking them out as the wealthiest in all of Westeros. 

Her fears were assuaged when Rhaegar didn’t recognize her at first, until she boldly began a conversation with him at the first night’s feast. After that the rest of their courtship was a formality, a game of wits and enchantment. The Prince hadn’t needed to sweep his bride off her feet but he had anyway, and Cersei felt all the more in love with him for it. She did love him, much more than she thought she could ever love anyone. Jaime, her twin, her other half, bore much of her love… and yet Rhaegar held her admiration, desire, and adoration. 

And come sun down tomorrow she would be his and he hers. The young lioness smiled into the night, the smell of the city she usually recoiled from not bothering her tonight. Her impending wedding left her with too much lightness for the stench of sewage to dampen her mood. 

After several minutes she heard the steady footsteps of her King on the flagstones behind her. Quiet as they were she had come to know them well, as they increasingly pushed the limits of courtship. Arranged betrothals often led to often-stumbled first steps in a marriage, but Cersei had spent the months immediately after Harrenhall in an extended courtship, due to the Greyjoy rebellion. She and Rhaegar had had more than enough time to get to know each other, and she was almost completely comfortable around him. Only rarely did she let herself miss Jaime’s company, now that he was temporarily distanced from her, and the closeness they shared as twins. They were the same, but Rhaegar was something totally unequaled, and she found it was getting easier to be with him, to speak honestly and without guarding herself. She hoped and saw that he felt the same.

Rhaegar rested his hands over hers on the edge of the window and she smiled softly. Often they found each other up late at night like this, both insomniacs it seemed. He rested his palms over hers and linked their fingers, bending slightly to set his head on her shoulder. “I figured I would find you asleep for once,” he teased quietly, his deep velvet baritone sending shivers down her spine. “Although you don’t need beauty sleep.” Her smile broadened, but she didn’t smirk. He was sweet so regularly now, little comments like that no longer felt like hard-won victories. 

“I find I’m too excited to sleep, my King,” Cersei murmured softly, a light blush on her cheeks though she didn’t look at him. 

The open admission surprised him slightly, and Rhaegar chuckled into her hair. “Excited about the wedding? What is there to be excited about? Another feast, hours of entertaining boring Lords and Ladies?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I’ll finally be yours. Don’t tell me you’ve not grown impatient as well.”

“Ah, well I have for some things…” his voice dropped to a slight purr, and she recognized the playful, pranking tone of the Prince who had dragged her into a foolishly improper dance at their first real meeting. “Though there is still much time between us and that.”

“Much time, and much pomp and circumstance.” She hummed, although the blush in her cheeks had flamed higher, “Bedding ceremonies too.”

Rhaegar didn’t miss the way her voice darkened slightly at the mention of that particular element of the wedding, and he sighed. “We’ll see. I am the King, maybe I desire to be the only one to undress my Queen.” He saw the way that made her smile, but in the dark he missed the guilt that clouded her eyes for a moment, the fear that he would discover her experience. Of course, she remembered Lyanna’s words, and she had ensured that she could fake all aspects of maidenhood, especially since Jaime had been gone for so many months. Still, she didn’t want to betray Rhaegar, even by omission. But it was too late, and she wouldn’t take back those hours with Jaime. He was her twin, her other half, they belonged together… at least, before she was Queen. 

“I would appreciate that, my Lord…” She murmured, her worries making her voice sound more fearful. She didn’t mind, it was effective for persuading him against this. Cersei was a lioness, she wouldn’t cringe, but the thought of all those eyes on her flesh was off putting to say the least, and the last thing she wanted was hands that weren’t Rhaegar’s (or Jaime’s) touching her. 

Hearing that fear made Rhaegar frown, and he pressed a tender kiss to her hair. “Then you shall have it. I promise you, once you’re my Queen you will have anything you could ever ask for.” She smiled softly and wished to kiss him, kiss him for giving her everything she had ever wanted, and could ever want. But that would have to wait for tomorrow. 

 

“Thank you, my King,” she whispered instead, and offered him one of her soft, adoring smiles. At first she had kept those to a minimum, wanting to seem more sophisticated, but she wasn’t putting on a face anymore. 

Her soft, sultry smiles had been growing on him, but sometimes it was nice, if jarring, to be reminded of her innocence. Cersei was only 16 though she seemed much older, and Rhaegar often forgot that she could still be the young girl he once saw around court. But occasionally it was nice to see, and especially on such a night as this. It only reinforced his desire to protect her, even from something as simple as an old custom. And besides, having waited so long to see the flesh that lay beneath her intricate gowns and corsets, the baser side of him didn’t want other Lords to see her before he did. His Queen. His Cersei. 

“You should sleep,” he hummed after an extended silence. “We’ll both need our rest for tomorrow.” He knew she was as eager as he, even if a maiden. It was obvious to see he… affected her when he spoke a certain way, or caressed her hand and waist as he was now. “I’ll walk you to your chambers, my Lady of Lannister.”

“Targaryen tomorrow,” Cersei hummed, her soft smile turning cheeky as she leaned into him. “I’ll be trading one crimson cloak for another.” She couldn’t hide the excitement at his touch and the prospect from her voice, but she did mask the yawn as they walked. 

He hummed, glancing over at her and kissing her hair as he so often did lately. “Hmm. Yes, you’ll be the Dragon’s Queen. But you’ll still be a Lioness. I don’t think I would ever try to take that from you, how fierce you can be.” 

The King remembered well Cersei’s anger at the destruction of the ships at Lannisport, out matching her father’s significantly. It had been unequalled until he had opted to lead an attack, and a raven had come saying he was injured mildly. The raven the soon-to-be-Queen sent back had given the maester a good fright, and Rhaegar a much needed laugh. Cersei was so fierce, sometimes. His Visenya, his warrior queen. He had often entertained the idea of giving her a sword again and teaching her to fight, just for laughs, and because he knew her father would never approve. A more sentimental part of him knew it would please his Queen just as much as any golden treasure would. And Rhaegar adored the softer, rarer side of her as much if not more than her ferocity. Sometimes he felt it could slip away if he didn’t cultivate it, for she often seemed to find fault in things, a reason to struggle, to wall herself off when all he wanted was to see that little glimmer of vulnerability. Of his vows the coming day, among those spoken were many he promised silently. That he would never hurt her as Aerys had his Queen. That he would give her everything in his power to give her and more. That he would treasure her. And that he would strive to show her the love that made that softer part of her stronger.

Of course, his feelings were not purely sentimental, and he wasn’t entirely the white knight of the songs. In his mind was always the prophecy, the need for three heads of the dragon. He wanted to right the wrongs of his father, and for that he needed children. But Cersei was young, and healthy, and of strong blood. She was not sickly as Elia recently had become, nor as fertile as Catelyn Tully, but he didn’t doubt that she could prove to be. It was a complicated act, on his part, for he had come to love and care for her, and did not wish to treat her or think of her as a broodmare. But at the same time, he needed to get children on her, for his own selfish ends. 

Their arrival at her door pulled the King out of his thoughts, and he smiled softly at the woman by his side. “And here is where I leave you, m’lady,” he smirked, kissing her hand. “Tonight, anyway. Tomorrow we will see your new chambers, hmm?’

He watched Cersei push back a strand of her golden hair and smile softly at him, the same mirth reflected back in her emerald eyes. “Yes, I suppose we shall won’t we? And you, my King, need to sleep as well.” she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Get some rest, Rhaegar.” Though a full six years younger than him, he forgot their difference entirely in moments like this and smiled, laughing for a moment. 

“Yes, I confess I am tired as well. Though I have less preparations in the morrow than you do, my dear.” He winked, “I will see you in the Sept.”

She nodded, giving his hand a final squeeze before slipping into her rooms and letting the handmaidens remove her dress, the soft thuds of Rhaegar’s step echoing as he walked down the great hall to his own chambers. 

\---

Despite Cersei’s soft order the night before, Rhaegar hardly slept a wink in the night. Each time he went to close his eyes he saw his father’s face. He had to keep reminding himself he wasn’t Aerys, that he wouldn’t be. But his father had been a good man in the beginning, a good king and a good husband, as Lord Husbands went, anyway. That was how Targaryens were though, wasn’t it? They all went mad… He was determined to end that, taking a bride well outside the bloodline, but he couldn’t shake the fear that he would become his father. The previous King’s ghost swam to his vision and laughed, and burnt, and cursed him for what he had done. The tears of Lys would have been enough to make it look as though his father passed of old age, but Rhaegar knew better. And even if Aerys died with Jaime Lannister’s sword in his back, the Prince had approved it.

When the King finally did manage to sleep, his dreams soured and he would startle awake with screams echoing in his ears. First his mother’s, and then those he imagined would be Cersei’s, if he ever did become like his father. He hated that he could picture his lioness bruised and battered, simpering like his mother had toward the end. That wouldn’t be him. If anything, he would bring her brother back to the keep, to protect his Queen. As dishonourable as the kingslayer had proved to be, Rhaegar knew they feared the same things. Jaime had looked in Rhaella’s eyes and seen Cersei reflected back at him. 

Once he did get up, the King found himself swept up into the wedding preparations, entertaining and directing and only catching scant glimpses of his bride. Maybe it was for the better, with the current state of his nerves. Cersei would pick up on it right away, and he liked to think he had come to know her well enough to know she would find a way to find the fault in herself. 

The last thing he wanted today was an embittered Cersei Lannister.

In the whirl of the day Rhaegar couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer amount of silver, gold, and above all crimson strewn about the Red Keep. He had said to spare no expense (debt would be owed to the Lannister’s after all, and he was marrying a Lannister), and obviously whoever had been in charge of decorating had taken that notion to heart. Every table for the feast was swathed in deep red, and there were more house sigils then he had ever seen clustered about the place. Not to mention that the smallfolk had taken to calling theirs the joining of silver and gold, a theme certainly carried over in the decor. However, the massive tapestry of a dragon coiled around a lioness was certainly his favourite, and he had already resolved to keep it hung in its place, and to move the smaller duplicate to the new Queen’s chambers. That’s what he wanted to be, the one who protected his queen and the realm. A boyish fantasy, to some extent, but not an implausible one. 

Once things settled, slightly, he made his way to the Sept, regarding the amassed crowd inside with a small, quiet smile. Grinning wasn’t Kingly, and he wouldn’t grin at the entire city’s population and more gathered to watch his marriage. They spilled over into the surrounding area and he found it all rather uncomfortable and ridiculous. He was the King, and a man of 22, he shouldn’t be so nervous to be in front of them like this. 

He chose to go in a litter to the Sept of Baelor, he and Cersei would ride back later on matching horses. He thought that Cersei would like that more than in a carriage like was more customary. He had had a white horse identical to his own brought for his bride, and he intended to surprise her. Already the streets were filling with onlookers and it was almost impossible to move through the square while a line of gold cloaks kept the crowd at bay. The crowd would only increase as the hours went on. 

When he reached the great Sept he entered by the main entrance and blushed as a great cheer went up for the King. He knew that somewhere within the towers of the Sept Cersei was prepared so that when she was revealed to the public in her gown, he would be with her. Really, he wished he could already see her, and know what splendor she had wrapped herself in. 

Within the first set of doors stood two members of the Kingsguard. Rhaegar acknowledged them as he stood waiting for the doors to swing open. His feet tapped against the stones, the fresh leather boots on his feet still slightly uncomfortable, but the fidgeting was more do to his nerves than anything. Ser Barristan appeared at his side and handed him the cloak of black and red that he would use to claim Cersei as his own. He examined the delicate embroidery of his great sigil. He couldn’t wait to see Cersei draped in his color, as fearful as he had been of his father’s legacy, there was something inexplicably right in her becoming his. And him becoming hers.

When the inner doors opened he made his way down the center aisle to stand between the altars of the Mother and Father. He bowed low to the High Septon and turned to watch the doors through which he had just entered. A hushed silence had fallen over the group as they waited to see the future queen. After a minute the doors swung open and there stood Cersei.

Of course, he’d expected her to wear red. In fact, the only time he hadn’t seen Cersei in red was when she’d worn a blue dress he liked and had made for her, after the end of the rebellion. He still liked the red dresses better. Of all of them though, this was something else entirely. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, the crimson fabric matching the Lannister cloak draped over her shoulders, the gold of the embroidery matching her hair, pulled back halfway and in a complex twist on the top of her head, exposing her elegant neck and the slightest hint of cleavage formed by the corset’s bodice. He’d seen her in one of two dresses that accentuated her figure, and yet somehow she looked completely different. In a odd way he admired the way the embroidered silks (lions and dragons, upon closer inspection) flowed around her as she walked toward him, pooling behind her in a blood-like train. Perfectly befitting his warrior queen, his Visenya.

The rest of the ceremony Rhaegar spent in a haze, his eyes never leaving Cersei’s as the high Septon droned on. His own vows echo in his head over the more traditional ones, and he keeps her hand in his devotedly. To many of the lords in the inner chamber of the sept it may seem odd that he and Cersei seemed so comfortable with each other. Many of them had never found comfort with their spouses, but Rhaegar couldn’t be happier with his bride. He didn’t envy those like Ned Stark, who had married his brother’s bride scant weeks after Brandon’s demise. They were still awkward with each other, even with a child soon between them. But he and Cersei were lucky enough to have already gotten the chance to get acquainted in all the ways but one. And soon enough, they would know each other every way a husband and wife should. 

For all the ceremony and the crowd amassed, the wedding itself felt intimate somehow. The final words were spoken and he smiled, brighter than many in attendance had ever seen him smile before. Softly he brushed his hands over the crimson and gold shrouding Cersei’s slim shoulders. Given that she was taller than many of the other ladies he didn’t have to bend too much to pull the Lannister cloak off of her and hand it to Ser Barristan at his side. 

The Sept was silent as the King lifted the black and red cloak and swung it with a flourish to drape over her shoulders. The rich fabric fell over her hair, and that bothered him, so Rhaegar gently leaned closer to her and eased the curtain of silken curls from underneath the fabric, so they offset the Targaryen colors with a bit of Lannister gold. He was aware of the eyes on them as he fastened her new cloak, his face a breath from hers.

Traditionally, it would be Rhaegar’s responsibility to lean in and place an appropriately chaste kiss on Cersei’s painted lips. But the new Queen had other plans, and before he could properly process it, Rhaegar felt her small hands pulling him to her, and her warm lips on his own. It was not an entirely unwelcome surprise, and he responded eagerly. Their kiss was not especially chaste. At first he let her control it, mildly surprised by the assurance conveyed in her movements and the hand she slid into his silver hair. But after a moment he collected himself enough to press more ardently against her, his lips and tongue and teeth playing with her own. They were lost in each other, until he felt a tap on his shoulder and came back to his sense, pulling away from her. Only then did the noise that had sprung up in the Sept be heard, and a whooping cheer from Lord Baratheon. Rhaegar was glad he was too immersed in his bride to attune to the words. Cersei seemed equally pleased, and her hand had at some point slipped into his, holding it rather firmly. 

“Shall we make our escape?” He whispered into her ear, not waiting for her reply as the Septon announced her as the new Queen. Rhaegar gave her a moment, noticing the pure delight seeping even deeper into her eyes, before he gestured to the door. “I have a surprise for you, my Queen…”

Cersei managed to look at him just at the right moment, for she missed the thundering of the horses hooves and the entrance of the two white horses, one with a silver saddle and the other gold, into the Sept. He grinned; kissing her again softly (the Lords and Ladies were distracted now. And soon he could and would kiss her all he liked) and spinning her around. “I figured a litter was too plain for my lioness. Can you guess which is yours?”

“It’s hardly a guess,” Cersei murmured, leading them to the horses. Her fingers brushed over the gilding on the golden saddle. She smiled softly at the symbol, the dragon curled around the lion. It was mirrored on Rhaegar’s white gold saddle, and she turned to him. “These must have taken ages to do.”

“Months, my love.” He hummed, wrapping his arms around her waist as they stood between the two beasts. “But I had the time, and I figured you would appreciate a unique exit. And we should exit before the crowd grows too anxious…” He kissed her neck just above his family’s cloak. “May I help you up?”

She nodded, a bright smile on her lips. “I do appreciate it.” She stepped closer to her horse, the larger of the two she noted with a small upward quirk of her lips, a disguised smirk. Rhaegar’s hands moved to her waist, and she let him lift her, and then use his hands as a brace for her to get settled. As much as she would have wished it, the dress didn’t permit her to sit like a man, so she sat proper as she watched him swing up gracefully. The Targaryen colors fanned out over the back of her horse, and they both looked quite regal. The red of her gown and his jerkin matched, and contrasted beautifully with the white of their horses. She admired her new husband’s aesthetic taste even more. 

“You look far too pleased with yourself,” Rhaegar hummed, smirking over at her. “Or is it with me?”

“Guess, my King…” 

“Me of course.” He grinned, though the teasing glint in his eyes told her it was far more than his arrogance. If anything, the King was far less arrogant than most of his vassal Lords. At first she’d been amused, and then briefly disconcerted, but once she realized he projected the image, and got to know the real Rhaegar, she fell for him like the songs.

Their exit, and the roar that greeted them cut off her clever reply. She had never seen the city so alive with people, the street around the Sept nearly impassable, save the gold cloaks forcibly parting the crowds to clear a path for their horses. The people still crowded around them and a few reached to touch the skirt of her dress. Her father would have been utterly disappointed, but Cersei loved the adoration and her smile was a radiant as her gilded saddle. Rhaegar divided his attentions between their path and her, but when it widened out enough in the square, the King rode up beside his queen, their horses falling into step as they wove through the crowd. Cersei had never felt this level of adoration, and she smiled brightly at her new husband. All along the remainder of the ride between the sept and the castles seaside gardens, hands reached for their horses and their hands, caressed the gilded embroidery of the Targaryen cape. She saw Rhaegar chuckle.

It was almost a disappointment when they arrived at the garden, gorgeous and crimson as they were. She’d never seen so much red in her entire life, even between growing up in the Red Keep and Casterly Rock. She knew, of course, that the fact that black was missing from the decor was significant, that Rhaegar wanted the kingdoms to know that this was their wedding. The banners that hung about the grounds weren’t his house banners, but those he had had made to represent the joining of their two houses, the Dragon and his Lioness. She smiled, lost in a bit of a daze until she felt Rhaegar’s hands guide her off the horse and onto the ground, lifting her easily about her waist. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to ogle the gardens in a moment, my Queen,” He teased her, always teasing her, and brushed a lock of her hair over her shoulder. “Though now we have a reprieve from being mobbed with our guests, and I’d rather like to kiss my bride. Properly this time.”

Of course he didn’t mean properly. Their kiss in the Sept had been barely proper, and the kiss he placed on her now was no such thing. Not that Cersei minded. Her hand clutched in his doublet as he cupped her jaw, sending shivers down her spine and pulling her closer. A soft sort of whimper left her throat as she melted against his lips, only to be answered by a cough from behind her. 

“My Lord,” A polite voice murmured, stepping just into the periphery of Cersei’s view. “I think it would be best you and the Queen took your places now, before the guests start arriving. I would hate for you to be caught in a position such as this by someone less discrete.” Varys had that slim smirk on his face that had made him the most terrifying person in the Keep, at least in Cersei’s childhood memory. It was still rather terrifying now, but she was the Queen now, she didn’t need to concern herself with his gossip (her father would say otherwise, but how could kissing her husband after her wedding be anything to be worried about?).

Rhaegar must have felt similarly, for he moved his arm to wrap around Cersei’s waist and chuckled. “And what position would that be?” She watched his violet eyes twinkled with mirth as he pinched her waist, leading her up the dais to their lofted table. “Is it so wrong for a man to kiss his wife?”

Cersei blushed, though her gaze stayed on Varys, defiant. She was still a lioness, and proud to be standing beside the King, as the Queen. Nor would she be the simpering submissive wife beside him. Instead, in a moment of bravery she leaned out of her seat and kissed Rhaegar once more, just as deeply. “It’s not wrong for a wife to kiss her husband either is it?” She murmured with a smirk, brushing her thumb over his lip and sitting up, just in time to avoid being seen by her father as he joined them at the table. 

“Lord Tywin,” The king nodded, smiling at his good father as the high tables filled in. Or Cersei’s side anyway. There weren’t enough Targaryen’s left to fill any tables, the only family he had not present at the feast. It wasn’t a place for children as young as Viserys and Daenarys. Particularly the later, who was only a few months old. Motherless now, though Rhaegar hoped Cersei could fill in in some way for the girl’s mother. She hadn’t had a mother past her Seventh nameday, certainly she knew how it felt to yearn for family. 

But that was a discussion for another time. 

“Darling?” He heard Cersei’s crisp voice murmur to his right, and he offered her a slight smile. “There you are. You were staring at your wine…”

“Just thinking.” He promised, giving her hand a squeeze beneath the table. 

Her answering gentle smile was one he rarely saw, a sort of bemused quirk of her lips. He preferred her smirks, admittedly. “About, my King?”

“You of course,” You, and my sister, and the family line, as always, he thought, but the placid smile stayed in place, only the glimmer of his eyes dimmed. It was unfair, wasn’t it? To marry her and crown her without telling her what he needed from her. But he’d come to love her, all of her, and he needed her. He only feared he’d put her in a cage without her knowledge, and that he’d change, and she’s still be there, unable to leave him. He watched her smile morph into a pleased smirk, pushing the worry aside. 

Lords and Ladies come up to congratulate them, and after a while the faces blur. Cersei realized that Rhaegar was right, she had plenty of time to study the decor as yet another pitiful minstrel sang for them, the same sort of tawdry romantic tune. Her king saw her saw and clapped, cutting off the bard and gesturing him closer so he could pay him. “Are you bored?” He whispered, as if it was the most indelicate thing.

“Even you must grow tired of that,” She huffed, earning a warning look from her father at her petulance. “Plus I’m a bit starved,” she added, hoping to excuse her complaints.

“You? Hungry? You rarely eat anything at our suppers, Cersei,” Rhaegar grinned, and she just rolled her eyes, “Oh you are hungry. Well, we can’t have that.” In a very unkingly move, he stood up and walked to the end of the table, grabbing the bread that had been sitting in front of her brother and placing it in front of her. Needless to say, the servants scrambled back to get their food. 

For a moment Cersei just stared at him, and then she laughed softly, shaking her head. “Was that really necessary?” She murmured, knowing a good number of their guests had chuckled at her husband’s display, “It would have been far easier to ask a servant…”

“But far less fun,” He winked at her, and she thought she might have to kiss him again right there. “Besides, Cersei, we’re the King and Queen, no one is going to get us in trouble.”

Both their eyes flicked to Tywin for a moment, and they chuckled softly. “Well, at least he can’t send you home.” Rhaegar hummed, taking the basket of bread and breaking a piece off for her, adding a healthy amount of the grapefruit spread he’d discovered she enjoyed to the slice before feeding it to her. 

From the second table Lyanna Baratheon chuckled, nudging her husband. For once he wasn’t too terribly drunk, and behaving like the adorable sod she had fallen for as a girl. “Look at them. How soon do you expect he’ll get a child on her?”

Robert glanced at the King, still feeding his smirking Queen bits of sweetened bread. Instead of replying he stared for a moment and let out a booming laugh. “This isn’t Dorne, my Lord, though you do have good taste.” He raised his glass in a mock toast.

Lyanna’s smile fell as the surrounding Lords and Ladies laughed, including Rhaegar and Cersei, if you could call her polite chuckle a laugh. She got up after a moment and walked up to the high table, carrying her gift for the Queen. “Well, I apologize, My King, but I assumed you’d be so inundated with gifts I only brought one for your bride,” she smiled brightly at Cersei, the two of them having become close friends in the past year since Harrenhall. “And I’m sure Robert meant no offense by his comment… it appears he’s already gotten well into his cups.”

Cersei laughed, a real one this time, Lyanna happened to know. “Any other day I would have been offended, Lady Lyanna… though today we can let it pass,” she smiled briefly at the king.

“I suppose I should be grateful for that,” she chuckled, handing Cersei the brightly wrapped package. “I wouldn’t open that here…”

The Queen’s brows rose almost comically, her naivety showing crystal clear. Though Lyanna knew Cersei was not a maid, she had had the pleasure of enlightening her on quite a few things in their conversations, and they had often made a joke of it. “Ah… I see. Thank you?”

Both Rhaegar and Lyanna laughed, earning them one of Cersei’s customary petulant scowls. “Both of you, really?” She huffed, hiding a pout.

“You’ll like it. Both of you will.” Lyanna grinned, taking the Queen’s hand for a moment, “I’m not trying to embarrass you. My husband accomplished that for the both of us.”

“I noticed,” Cersei smiled, setting the gift next to her chair. “Thank you, anyway.”

Lyanna nodded, giving her closest friend’s hand a squeeze before she returned back to her table, leaving the King and Queen to the numerous other gifts and guests. 

After a while the gifts wore on, and even Rhaegar was growing tired, and hungry for the feast that was to come (Cersei had eaten all the bread but the single piece she fed to him, despite how tight he knew her dress was). He did his best to smile genuinely at each Lord and Lady, and thank them for each token or parcel they received. It wasn’t until Jon Connington stood in front of him, with a long, silk wrapped package, that both he and Cersei’s attention was refocused. The man had always displayed an admiration for the King, an obsession that Cersei had half a mind to be threatened about in fact, but their interest wasn’t on the man himself, but rather the object in his hands. 

“My silver prince,” Jon murmured, “And our new Queen, Cersei,” he bowed, but Cersei’s jaw worked at the disdain for her in his in his voice. “I think it fitting for you to have a true King’s sword, My Lord.”

Rhaegar stood, hurriedly but not impolitely so, and dropped his wife’s hand to pick up the wrapped object. His slim fingers hurried over the silk and pulled it back, and a grin lit up his face. “Valyrian… Where on earth did you find a Valyrian steel sword?” He held it up, his queen ducking slightly to avoid his arm. 

“I had this one fresh forged, my King. A new sword for a new era.” 

Rhaegar was silent a moment, torn between awe at the weapon and the weight of his father’s rule behind him. “Thank you, Lord Connington. It’s quite the weapon. And I do believe it needs a name…?” He glanced not a Jon but at Cersei, showing her the blade. 

He knew that she felt threatened by a gift like the sword, and that underneath the strong exterior she presented, his new Queen was still sometimes fragile girl of but 16 years. He didn’t want her to think that she was less important to him than a sword, no matter how magnificent the weapon. 

Evidently the crowd didn’t interpret or see his gesture, as shouts came up from all ends of the courtyard. Some were good suggestions, he was partial to those of Silverfyre and Skysfall, though he waited, watching his queens brows dip in concentration. Valyrian swords were objects of a family line, to be passed down for centuries, though many had been lost. And though the sword would continue down the Targaryen line, he and Cersei were the one’s to further it, of course he wanted her input. 

“Eastern Sun,” She murmured after a moment, smiling softly up at him. They were both intelligent enough that she didn’t need to explain the fairly straightforward name. Targaryens of the east, Lannisters of the sunny west. He also knew that Cersei was often referred to as the Light of the West, and smiled softly. 

“Eastern Sun.” He echoed, only louder, so their guests would hear. He held the sword out a moment longer before returning it to it’s sheath and taking his seat once more. He brought Cersei’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently. “I’ve taken the light right out of the west,” he teased softly, smiling over at her, “They’ll need a new sun.”

The rest of the gifts flew by, and by the time the feast was laid, all the guests were too starved to wait long. Evidently the King was much beloved by his people, though there were a surprising number of gifts for his Queen. Rhaegar smiled as they stood, stepping to the center of the dais before lifting Eastern Sun, and cleanly cleaving the top off the pigeon pie. The doves flew out to the cheers of the crowd, and soon enough he was happy to have a bite of that pie in his mouth. And then several more. 

The King and Queen kept to themselves after that, huddled in behind the high table. At least this time their feeding of each other was expected, and escaped Robert’s gaze. 

As the sun set over the gardens, the Lords and Ladies began to grow restless, and the celebrations moved into the Keep, the hall decked out richly in the same colors as the gardens. There was dancing and drinking (though both Rhaegar and Cersei were kept from too much wine by her father. Wedding night or not, a certain level of decorum was expected.), and after another few hours of revelry, calls for the bedding. 

Cersei bristled; hiding it behind a contrived bashful smile, hoping Rhaegar would keep his promise from the night before. The last thing she wanted was to be manhandled by Lyanna’s brute of a husband or groped by men older than her father. 

But thankfully, Rhaegar just chuckled. “I’ve deciding against a Bedding Ceremony, my lords. She is my Queen, after all, and as I’ve waited over a year to wed her, I’ll not wait a moment longer to bed her.” 

That got him a look from Tywin, but Cersei was too busy chuckling as he scooped her into his arms, kissing her brow as he walked from the hall, ignoring the jovial protests of their guests. “Thank you,” she laughed quietly, surprised he kept carrying her, through the keep.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Rhaegar hummed, slightly more serious than he had been before. 

She nodded, not sure how to interpret his demeanor now that the face he put on for the festivities was off. “Yes, you did. And I am grateful…” she reached up and cupped his cheek, her fingers brushing his ear. “My King.”

“My Queen,” He smiled down at her, his violet eyes pensive as they so often were, boring into her. They didn’t speak further on the way to her new chambers (theirs, she hoped), and a small thrill went through her as he laid her on the bed. 

Cersei stared up at him as he undressed her slowly, undoing the laces of her corset first, his nimble fingers loosening the ties between her breasts easily. He didn’t touch her, yet, he didn’t do more than pull the corset gently from her and then begin to peel away the layers of her gown, as if he was unwrapping a gift. She was afraid to speak, with him staring at her like that. 

He wasn’t Jaime. Nor was he the beast Lyanna had warned her about. Rhaegar was somehow more pensive in the bedchamber than ever, considering her like a piece of art. Her hands went up to carefully undo his doublet, and though she’d undress a man before, her hesitance wasn’t feigned. Her slim fingers shook and he stilled her hand, the Queen only in her slip with the King staring down at her. 

“Cersei?” He caressed her fingers, “There’s nothing to be nervous about…” His voice was soft, softer than she’d been taught to expect, and he knelt in front of her, tilting her jaw tenderly so he could kiss her again. 

Her lips moved against his easily, and she continued to undress him, her hands finally resting on the bare skin of his chest when she pulled back for air. “I’m not nervous,” she murmured, a semblance of her traditional pride in her voice, “I trust you. I love you.”

She did too. Over a year was time enough for her to be sure of that, and for her to invest a part of herself in him she’d never thought she’d give to anyone, even when she’d been promised the Prince. 

His touch was still soft as he guided her back onto the bed, and softer still as he slid his hands up her sides, removing her small clothes while he kissed her neck, sending shivers down her spine. His hands ran over her bare chest and she gasped, blinking her eyes open without realizing she had shut them. Rhaegar wasn’t Jaime, he knew how to touch her in ways her brother still fumbled with, his hands were rougher, but more skilled.

He kissed her again and she forgot about Jaime, immersed in her royal husband’s touch. 

Cersei had been prepared to fake maidenhood, terrified that he would catch her in her lie, but with the way he was kissing her and caressing her, there was no way she could pretend to find any of this uncomfortable. Besides, she hadn’t had her brother in a year, and being with the King, her King, was intimidating enough for her to easily seem naive and inexperienced. Rhaegar’s lips left her own and traveled down her neck, making her mewl softly and shiver despite the heat of the room and the summer night. “It’s alright,” he whispered into the valley between her breasts, making her arch beneath him in delight. His hands ran over her chest, her waist, her hips, her thighs, and he kissed down to her navel with a soft hum. “I won’t hurt you.”

She wanted to tell him not to worry, that she trusted him, but she didn’t know how to say it without sounding suspicious. Instead she nodded, her eyes barely open, just enough to watch his silver head move lower. 

He kissed each of her hipbones, and then the flat of her stomach between them, before pulling up and kissing her lips again. “Cersei…” He breathed against her lips, and the sound of her name in that velvet voice made her moan softly, finally moving. Her hands tangled in his hair, pressing him to her and parting her lips, inviting him to kiss her deeper, to taste her mouth again. She wanted him, she needed him, and she could feel the press of him against her thigh that meant he needed her just as much.

“Yes…” she whispered, pulling back and panting from the kiss. “Yes… yes… please Rhaegar.” It was almost a whimpered plea, and evidently all the assurance the King needed. 

Lyanna had told her more than her Septas had and more than she’d learned from being with Jaime about how men bed their wives. Of course, Robert was one example of a husband, but the stories Lyanna had told her had often soured her hopes for her own wedding night. Falsely, as she was now learning. 

Rhaegar smiled softly at her words, kissing her again and cupping her cheek as he hovered over her, making her look at him. Cersei was used to be in charge, but this was blissful somehow, and she only closed his eyes at the first press of him into her. Part acting part honest adjustment, she winced slightly and let out a slow breath, surprised when he stilled and waited for her to nod and pull his head down for another kiss. 

He didn’t bed her quickly, and he never stopped being gentle with her. Every touch was more about her than about him, his eyes never leaving hers until she arched under him and tilted her head back so he could nip at her neck. it was perhaps over the top, how much he wanted her to enjoy this. But he’d grown up in his father’s shadow and was hell-bent to be the opposite of everything he was. That included how he treated his wife. Cersei would be his Queen as well as the realms, and he wanted her to feel that way. Even as he neared his edge he held off, watching her, wanting her to feel as good as he felt. Kissing her deeply again, he ran his hand to where they were joined and teased her, moaning as she bucked into his hand and broke the kissed to gasp. 

“Cersei…” He groaned, feeling her tongue trace his teeth experimentally and her body clamp down around him more.”Cersei…” He rolled his hips faster; close to his release and hoping she was nearing hers. 

His patience was rewarded a moment later when his bride suddenly went rigid below him and let out a high cry, her nails digging into his back and her hips bucking wildly. He’d been with enough women before to know she had reached her pleasure, and with a few deep thrusts he buried his face in her neck and his release deep within her. 

The King didn’t move for several minutes, panting into her neck and feeling her hips roll softly against his as she hummed, her eyes closed and her hands caressing his back. His weight had to be crushing her slim frame though, and reluctantly he rolled them onto their sides, pulling the Queen to his chest. There was silence in the bedchamber for a while, the distant sounds of the end of the revelry in the grounds and the great hall coming in through the open window. Finally, Rhaegar spoke. 

“Cersei? I need to tell you something. And I need to ask you something.” 

His voice was soft but her heart practically seized in her chest, and her emerald eyes snapped open. “What is it? Rhaegar?” She whispered after reigning in her worries. 

He swallowed. “You know… of my father’s cruelties. I promise I will never be cruel to you like that, in bed or otherwise. I am not my father. But I do...I need something of you."

"Anything," she promised and he wanted to tell her never to promise him that. "Anything, my lord."

“What do you know of prophecy?” He asked softly, his hand resting on the small of her back, thumbing over the pale gold of her skin. 

There was a brief flash of confusion across his bride’s brow, and her expression tightened into a thin line. “What do you mean, Rhaegar?”

He sighed, looking to the wall behind her with a resigned expression. “There is a prophecy, about my family. ‘The Prince that was Promised’ it’s called. The savior that will come.” After a moment his eyes drifted to her emerald ones. “The Dragon must have three heads, Cersei, three heads born of the blood of the Dragon.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, Cersei…” The King swallowed, ‘The Targaryen line has weakened over the centuries. The practice of marrying brother to sister has created far too much madness in the family. My father…” he sighed and shook his head. “But you’re not of the blood. Not to offend you my Queen. I need you, to be my Visenya, my warrior Queen, and to give the dragon it’s three heads, of purer blood, untainted blood.”

He watched Cersei’s jaw work, and her eyes darken in the dim light. “You mean three children. Just say what you mean, my lord. I know my place, as your wife. And I fully intend to fulfill my duties and bare your children, please do not assume me so naive as to forget the principal duty of a Queen. Three is hardly too much to ask… though I’m still unsure of what exactly you’re asking me.”

“I’m not asking anything more than that.I just mean to tell you that despite my motive for marrying you, despite my need for a wife as strong as the Lioness of House Lannister, I desire to be a good husband to you. You will make a fine Queen, Cersei, and a fine wife. I hope to be as good a King and husband to you.” 

“But?” Her voice was a fearful murmur, and he knew then that she didn’t expect to receive such kindness from him so soon, or at least now that he had her and was no longer courting her. 

He shook his head and cupped her cheeks carefully. “My lady. Have I ever given you reason to doubt my affections for you? I joke, yes, and I delight in teasing you, but I hope I have never shown cause for you to fear me, or expect me to hurt you.” 

Cersei swallowed, looking away for him like a shy child, an expression he’d never seen before on her. “No. No of course not, my lord.” The title was starting to grate on his nerves. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me in the last year, and since we first met I have enjoyed every moment with you. However… I’ve heard how men change with their wives, and I admit I was surprised by your… kindness tonight.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised.” Rhaegar sighed. “I promise you I will always be kind to you, and respect you. You need not fear me, and you needn’t call me My lord. Especially not here.”

Cersei nodded, a small smile forming on her lips as she kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Rhaegar… But, you said you had something to ask me?”

There was an awkward moment of silence between them, both looking at the other and then looking away. Rhaegar kept his hand at her back so she couldn’t move away from him, fearful of what her response would be to his question. Many would be offended… and he wasn’t sure what he hoped her reaction would be. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know. “Were you truly a maid, before tonight?”

Cersei gaped at him. She looked the worst possible mixture between aghast, hurt, and guilty. He sighed. “It won’t change anything. I meant every word I spoke to you, I just hope that you enjoyed this night as much as whoever you had before. I won’t ask who.”

She blinked for a moment and closed her mouth. The awkward silence stretched out for another few minutes until she spoke. “More. I enjoyed it more. I… I apologize My lor- Rhaegar, for…” she stumbled over her words for once, “I… I don’t know how to explain… but… oh by seven.” she huffed, covering her face with her hands and pressing her fingers to her eyes, stalling the tears that threatened to spill.

“Cersei…” he took her hands in his and guided them back. “Look at me. You don’t need to explain. I only hope that whoever he was, he treated you with the care you deserve. And if someone hurt you-”

“It wasn’t that. No. None hurt me.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her closer, kissing her deeply again. “Thank the Seven. That’s all I wanted to know. You may sleep now.”

"Will you stay with me?" She smiled at him and he chuckled, nodding. 

"Of course. Go to sleep, my Queen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed a little happiness after that last chapter (sorry about those deaths...). Just a reminder this is an AU and we changed a lot of things, and left some things, and no, we're not GRRM and will never claim this is a perfect work.Ever. Because it's not and we're just having fun. Thank you for joining us in that!


	4. Living Our Way Young

"So, how was it being wed and bed, as your husband so eloquently put it last night?" Lyanna asked Cersei, treating her the same though the woman was now her Queen. Propriety was not something the Northern woman had much of. They were walking through the southernmost part of the castle gardens, where the grounds sloped toward the sea and the stone cliffs mellowed the sounds of another day’s festivities. It was a beautiful place, and not for the first time Lyanna envied her friend. If her husband was anything in private like appeared in public, she was very lucky indeed. 

She watched the Queen at her side smile fondly, almost privately. "It was...not what you had told me to expect. Not at all. He was so kind. He... I'm not sure it's proper to say all that he did, but he did not rush, and he put my pleasure first.”

“Kind?”

“Yes, terribly kind… I… He… I hardly expected anything like that.” Cersei wasn’t used to stumbling over her words, but something about the King and the newness of it all made her tongue twist in her mouth. She had known kindness, love, and adoration with Jaime of course, but… somehow it was different. Each man was, perhaps. “He promised that he wouldn’t hurt me, Lyanna.”

The other woman was silent, an odd mixture of surprise, envy, and ambivalence on her pale features. Whereas Cersei was lit with the sun and her joy with her new husband, Lyanna’s northern pallor had greyed in her time at Storm’s End. “That’s certainly something to be grateful for then,” she finally murmured, “You seem to have gotten your knight after all, just like in the songs.”

Cersei looked at her for a moment and then down at the ground, regretting her exuberance over the subject. Of course, her happiness with her husband and the gentleness of her bedding was not reflected in Lyanna’s marriage. She hadn’t meant to irk the other woman, or to brag. But she was delighted to finally have Rhaegar, to have had him, and for him to have been so gentle in the act. Besides, she was the Queen now. And not only that. Her King loved her as much as she did him. “Lyanna, I didn’t mean to boast, I won’t mention it again.”

“I know, Cersei.” She sighed, “I am happy for you, truly, and I would not wish a marriage like mine upon you, nor am I unhappy that the king was kind to you. If anything I am glad that you were right about him.” She sighed and shook her head, taking a seat on a bench facing the sea.

The Queen sat next to her, her hands primly in her lap and her lips still drawn in a thin line. Most around her had come to know that that line masked the Lioness’s internal conflict. Cersei sighed and ran a hand through her golden mane, before returning her hands to the crimson fabric of her dress. “I am happy as well, obviously. He could tell, I think, that I was terribly nervous. I expected him to be like you said…” Like Robert was. 

“Be glad he wasn’t. But, if I may, how was your acting my Queen?” Her tone turned jovial and she smirked. 

Cersei blushed, nearly the red of her dress, and glanced at her hands. “I barely had to act at all. I was as nervous and shy as a maiden could be, with him. And,” she lowered her voice slightly, embarrassed and wanting to ensure that they weren’t overheard. Thankfully, no one was minding them today, the guards watching the entrances to the courtyard on the bluff above them rather than the Queen herself, and the sea drowned out the sound of their voices. She continued with a blush. “It did hurt, at first, more than I expected. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant… merely… uncomfortable at first. I think…” her blush deepened, “He must have been bigger than I had had before.”

Lyanna glanced at her friend and her Queen in surprise for a moment and chuckled softly, breaking into indelicate laughter after a second. “Oh my darling girl,” she shook her head, “you still know so little.”

That earned her a glare from Cersei. “I recall you said that once a man put his cloak around my shoulder and promised to protect me, I was no longer a child. I can assure you, Rhaegar has made that promise, so do stop patronizing me.”

“I’m hardly patronizing you,” she laughed, rolling her eyes, “though I imagine it made it easier to pretend you still had your maidenhead. Did you bleed?”

Cersei blushed yet again, shaking her head. “I …I did as we planned. He never suspected.” She felt bad, in a way, lying to her closest friend and confidant, and yet it was nice to have this secret with her new husband. She had never actually broken her skin to fake her bleeding. Instead she had woken to the pleasant feeling of Rhaegar kissing the side of her neck, his fingers running through her hair gently. She had never woken up like that with Jaime, nor did she imagine she could have, with the weight of their secret and the fear of being caught. He smiled when he felt her stir slightly, murmuring a quiet good morning into her hair. She had returned it, and rolled onto her other side facing him, allowing him to kiss her softly. The King, it seemed, was not the most fond of soft kisses, and soon he was claiming her mouth, his hands sliding over her breasts, ribs, and stomach, making her giggle far too childishly. He didn’t seem to care, smiling delightedly up at her and nibbling her lip. It would have been a lovely moment, if not for the entry and subsequent traumatization of several of the Queen’s young handmaidens. Evidently, they had not expected the King to stay over, let alone to be nipping at his wife’s collarbone in the morning. The girl’s had scattered, and both Cersei and Rhaegar had stared at the door for a second before collapsing into awkward laughter. After a moment he had quieted and smiled over at her. “Well, now that our morning has been so rudely cut short… I believe there’s a small matter we need to attend to?” He had arched a brow and Cersei had been fully prepared to cut her hand or her thigh to get the blood needed, but Rhaegar had scoffed and refused to even let her near the knife. “Do you really think I would let my Queen scar herself over something this slight? No. Let me, m’lady,” he smiled at her softly, dragging the blade expertly over his ankle, letting the blood bead up on his skin. “How much, do you think?” After that, they joked about it as the King dabbed his blood on their bed sheets and the Queen waited, still not wearing a stitch of clothing. Once he had finished, she moved over and wrapped his ankle, smirking softly and kissing him gently. When the sheets had been inspected by the handmaidens (and discretely a maester and a septa) there were no questioning brows or polite inquiries. The secret remained between the King and his Queen.

Of course, Cersei couldn’t tell Lyanna any of that, nor did she. Instead she smiled softly and let the conversation drag on, until a guard came to collect them. The secret remained firmly trapped between her smirking lips. 

\---

Some in the capitol found the camaraderie between the King and Queen odd, unsettling even. It wasn’t proper in the eyes of the Septas, to catch the ruler of the realm pressing his wife up against the stones of the higher towers in the middle of the day, nor to spend awkward suppers watching them focus solely on each other. That wasn’t to say that the king neglected his duties in anyway. If anything with Cersei at his side he was a stronger ruler. He attended every council meeting, unlike many a king before him, and often the Queen came with him. 

The first month of their marriage that was how things functioned, Rhaegar a competent King and Cersei always by his side. She didn’t yet have the grasp of politics enough for the men to permit her to speak, but it was private belief that Rhaegar was training her to do so. At least until the meeting neither of them attended, which happened to be a quite important trade meeting with House Tyrell. Tywin was more than capable of organizing the agreement, though their absence did have the effect of making the entirety of the small council incredibly curious. When a page was sent to find the King, he was directed to the Queen’s rooms, but the scene he found was not that which he’d expected.

Instead of finding the King and Queen curled in passion, he found the King on his knees before the Queen. At first it was off-putting, nothing he’d quite seen before, until he notice the King’s hands caressing the silk over the Queen’s stomach as if he were in prayer. The page left, opting not to tell the Hand what he had seen. They would all know soon enough. 

Cersei let out a slow breath as she smiled down at her husband, his hands still on her stomach. They’d been there for the last half hour, and he didn’t seem to be done speaking any time soon. Of course, she hadn’t the faintest idea of what he was saying; the High Valyrian was completely lost on her, though something about his unfailing focus was both unsettling and delightful. She stayed still, though her feet were beginning to protest the lack of motion and her legs shook slightly from the effort of staying stock-still. Her hands ran through his hair, coaxing him to stand and to kiss her gently. “Are you happy, my King?” She whispered.

It took him a moment, to focus those violet eyes on her fully. “Am I happy?” He whispered, his eyes twinkling in a way she had never quite seen. “Of course I’m happy, Cersei… by the gods… I couldn’t be happier.” 

She smiled, nodding as she stared up at him. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s barely been a month, and already…”

“Your seed has quickened in my womb,” she whispered, resting her hands over his on her silks. “We’re going to have a child, Rhaegar.” 

He nodded, stroking his thumbs over her skin before he removed his hands to cup her face, kissing her brow with a soft hum. “Yes we are. The first head of the Dragon.” He smiled, but he knew he’d done wrong the moment he saw Cersei’s eyes fall to the floor, and her smile tighten on her face. She seemed to stiffen in his arms and pull away, although not physically. He’d only seen her wall off once, when a visiting trader had laughed at her presence at a trading meeting. But it wasn’t like this. “Cersei. Cersei look at me,” he pleaded, trying to lift her head to face him. 

But his Queen wouldn’t, even when she did meet his eyes they didn’t twinkle like they had moments before, all sense of her being happy with this gone. She was blank-faced and sunken, hollow. “I’ll do my duty, my King. Now please, I need to rest, and I believe you have a council waiting on you.” 

Something splintered between them then, though he wasn’t quite sure what, and he held her face a moment longer. A part of him wanted to push her and make her see that he meant no ill by mentioning the prophecy, that was immensely pleased with her pregnancy either way. But that was the same part of him then fought to shout at her and tell her she was being insolent and disrespectful, the part of him that wished him to be like his father. So instead he refrained and nodded, leaving his wife in her chambers. 

It was an odd thing, her reaction, and he couldn’t get it out of his head as he went about his duties. And it went on for weeks. Cersei refused him, avoided him. He could take his rights, of course, but he wouldn’t even if the risk of hurting his child wasn’t present. She seemed to draw in on herself, aging before the eyes of the Keep. Many claimed women seemed to be lit from within when with child, but that was certainly not the case with Cersei. If anything, the child inside of her seemed to be sapping the light right out of her. 

She sat all day in her chambers, refused to go about the gardens as she used to. It seemed to pain her to go out of the Keep even to bid farewell to her best friend, and it was obvious to everyone that she was in no state to be hosting anyone. Her skin had taken on a sort of opalescent pallor, both beautiful and ethereal, but sickly. She was eating, but only when she was told to, and not with any sort of delight. Rhaegar felt that she would slip away under his fingers when he touched her, which was rare enough as it was. She still smiled her beautiful smiles, but they were false, empty like her eyes. 

After weeks, it was Tywin Lannister who stepped up, and strode into his daughter’s rooms, throwing back the drapes pulled tight over her windows. The sunlight illuminated the dust in her rooms, and the Queen turned away. 

“Don’t.” Tywin spoke calmly, but his voice boomed into the quiet space and Cersei flinched away. “Whatever it is that set you off like this, you have taken more than long enough to recover. Now, there is kingdom circling with rumors over what has happened to their Queen. I suggest you settle those.” He glanced at her, not waiting for a reply. “You are with child Cersei. That is hardly something novel, and you should be pleased,” his lips quirked in a simile of a smile. “I knew your courtship was long, but the effect seemed to be quite worth it.”  
She blinked at him, still expressionless. 

“You will do your duty as a Queen as well as a wife, Cersei, and you will do your duty as my daughter. No Lannister will sit in bed all day wallowing in whatever it is that has soiled your happiness with the King.”

His daughter scoffed, but did not make a move.

“Get. Up.” He ordered, “Go make up with your husband and fix whatever this is. Now.” He walked to the bed and pulled back her quilts, like she was still a child and not the most powerful woman in the realm. “I will not have my daughter remain like this.”

Cersei sighed, but got up, straightening out the rumpled fabric of her nightdress. Her steps were uneven, stumbling more than she would have ever let herself in the past as she made her way past her father’s watchful gaze. 

“I expect to see you cleaned up and with a proper meal in you by the time I see you outside of these doors. And then you will go to the King’s solar and you will apologize to him for behaving like a petulant child.”

“I have not been a child,” she hissed, staring up at him with a spark of her fire returned to her eyes. “I am a lioness, and I will not be treated like broodmare for the King’s ends.” She glared at him, her teeth grinding steadily as she stared up at him. 

Tywin rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her antics. “You are being a child as we speak. King Rhaegar has hardly treated you as a broodmare, your actions these past weeks have troubled him as much as they have troubled you. He has not been himself, and the kingdom has suffered.”

She stared at him a moment, a brief flare of surprise crossing her sharp features, further sharpened by the little she had eaten. But as quick as it was there is was gone. “He only cares for his ‘three heads’ and his dragons and prophecy, Father. Everything before that… well the King is quite the liar. I should never have believed he loved me, I should never have thought it could be like…” she stopped, realizing who she was talking to. “Fine. I have been childish, and I will do my duty.” She nearly spat the words, turning away from him. “Now, leave me. I need to get cleaned up, do I not?”

The Hand hummed, pleased, and left her without a word, allowing her plethora of handmaidens to enter. Cersei remained as silent as she had been since that conversation with Rhaegar, but her sullenness was absent. She was a lioness, she would not cringe simply because her husband saw her as a way to fulfill a prophecy rather than the love she had thought he perceived her as. She could and would pretend to be happy still, no matter how bitter it made her in the end. She was a Queen, and that’s all she needed.

The maidens drew her a bath, perfumed with rose oil and lemon, and Cersei slipped beneath the water with a sigh of relief. When she greeted Rhaegar after weeks of silence, she would be more beautiful than when he first saw her. If there was one thing she could do, it was make him regret treating her as he had, even if the slight was in her mind alone. 

She hadn’t yet begun to show signs of pregnancy, and easily slipped into her second-best gown, more gold than red, and had her handmaidens lace it tightly around her. It felt like, armor, somehow, pulling the fine fabrics on after weeks of tawdry dresses meant for bed. She let the girls braid her hair, leaving most of it to hang in damp waves down her back. True to her father’s request, she ate a full meal before she headed to her husband’s solar, more than she’d eaten in one sitting in a week. Her steps were sure again as she strode through the halls, stepping into the sunlit room. It was stacked with books, a reminder that Rhaegar was an avid a scholar as he was a warrior, if not more. In the corner was his harp; untouched since the day they fought. He only sang songs for her now, and any songs he wanted to sing now were too morose for the harp. 

“My King,” Cersei spoke calmly, “I believe we need to talk.”

Rhaegar turned around, rising from his chair and striding toward her, stepping so close that he seemed almost menacing. He had had more than half a mind to menace her, over the weeks, and it was only a fear of hurting her and his love for her that held his hand and his tongue. “Now? After weeks you ordain it fit to speak with me?” He spat, glaring down at her though she held still and glared right back at him, “You have ignored me, refused me, avoided me these past weeks without a single explanation. So please, do talk.”

“I believe you are clever enough to ascertain exactly why I refused you, my King,” She hissed, bordering on a snarl. “After all, what need I see you now that I'm with child? Everything I believed about you was a lie, Rhaegar. And I know, I wed you and I am not required to love you, nor is it expected for you to even remotely care for me. But do tell me if that is the kind of marriage you desire, so I can prepare myself to share your bed with whores-” Cersei gasped, finding herself pressed up against the wall of the solar, Rhaegar’s hands gripping her shoulders. 

“Stop!” He shouted, stepping back from her after a moment. “That is not what I want! Seven Hells, if that were what I wanted, would have told you all that I did, about the prophecy, would I have promised never to hurt you? No!” He ran a hand through his silver hair, “Cersei, I have grown to love you, and I had hoped we could have a loving marriage. The prophecy is merely a side note. Yes, it pleases me that you’re already pregnant. Yes, part of that is due to the prophecy, but most of it” he sighed, stepping closer to her and cupping her cheek. “Most of it is because I treasure you, Cersei, and I am proud to have you as my wife, to have chosen you to bear my children.”

"But I can't exactly say no, can I?" She muttered, looking up at him and completely ignoring the fluttering of her heart when he told her things like that. "I thought...I thought ours would be a marriage like in the songs, Rhaegar. And I know it's terribly childish, but I truly believed you would be that man for me, that you wouldn't be the beast Lyanna tells me her own husband is. I believed the message in those banners you hang about this place- the dragon wrapped around the lioness. I want that!" She stepped closer to him, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. "I wanted it so much I would give you everything, all of myself. I trust you more than I trust anyone, even my brother. And I love you. But... When you mentioned that prophecy..."

"I broke my promise. I hurt you." He whispered, cupping both her cheeks and pulling her to him, resting his chin on her head. "I never meant to."

Cersei gave in. She leant into him and wrapped her arms around him, not caring if she was a lioness or not. She let herself cry, her tears beading on the leather of his doublet. His hand carded through her hair and he kissed her scalp as she cried silently, shaking in his arms after several minutes. She hadn't seemed to calm and that worried him. 

"Cersei?" He whispered, pulling back enough that he could tilt her chin to look at him. Even tear streaked and morose she was beautiful, and he couldn't help but drop his lips to hers. She surprised him by kissing back, slowly and unsure than any kiss from her had ever been. He hated that, the hesitance there, and pushed harder, kissed her deeper. He found her pliant but not passionate, little of the woman he had come to love conveyed in her kiss. "Cersei... Please believe me. I love you. I do not want you to think that I do not, or that I see you as...as a source of children and little else. I have missed you by my side, I need you by my side, I need to be in your bed, and I need you. Please."

She stared at him, her brows arranged skeptically and her lip between her teeth. She was thinking, but he didn't give her time for that. 

Before she could reply Rhaegar picked her up and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him and carrying her through the solar to his own chambers. She'd never been in them of course, he frequented her rooms more than anything else, or at least he had before, and it was not something he believed was considered normal. The king’s bed was for the king’s business. For many a man that would have meant the king’s whores, but Rhaegar was not that sort of man. He dropped his wife onto the black silks and kissed her again, wanting her to react. It took time, but the Queen did, her hands tangling in his hair as she pulled him down, almost digging into the King’s scalp in their force. 

There were seldom moments in the last weeks where he had seen Cersei be the lioness he had married, but this was surely one of them. After seconds the Queen had taken control of the kiss, her hands working through his hair and scrambling over his scalp, moving further and scoring the leather in her ferocity. There was more anger there than most men appreciated from their wives, but after weeks of tepid silence, Rhaegar relished it. He wanted her to hurt him, to mark his skin with her wrath and leave bruises with her spite. And though it went unspoken, Cersei seemed all too willing to comply. King or not, she disrobed him and rode him, golden hair falling in a curtain around them both until she arched back in ecstasy, the cry on her lips something he had missed more than anything. 

Once they had finished, she lay panting on his chest while he ran his fingers through her hair, following the strands to the lowest part of her back, and back up, occasionally lower just to taunt her. She kissed him lazily, with all the love and want he had missed, and words bubbled up in his throat, making it ache with their necessity. “I love you, my Golden Queen,” He murmured, caressing her cheek, “I adore you, and I never meant to hurt you. But please… Please the next time I anger you, tell me what I have done. In fact, even if I did not anger you, but you are angry, please tell me what it is that upset you.” He sighed, looking up at her. “This silence… I never want to see it again.”

It wasn’t an order, but a request, and Cersei could respect that. She smiled wryly at her lord husband and kissed his jaw. “I will. Though I’ll warn you, a great many things make me angry.”

Rhaegar laughed. “Then I will spend as much time as I can afford listening to your grievances.” 

He thought she was teasing. She was not.

\----

Pregnancy was not particularly hard on the Queen. It was, however, extremely tedious to the royal court, her barrage of handmaidens, and anyone unfortunate enough to work in the kitchens. And the King, true to his word, listened to her complaints and did his best to solve them. There were many complaints. Food made her sick, but she was hungry. Then, there was nothing she wanted to eat. He sent to Dorne for fruit, which seemed to satisfy her for a while. But soon that grew tiresome. She couldn’t sleep, it was too hot in her rooms, so he brought her to his, but then his bed was uncomfortable. Then, she grew tired, irritable, and refused to come to small council meetings. Or any meetings. That worried him. 

It took almost into her sixth moon for him to truly come face to face with the demon his wife could be when pregnant. Above all her other complaints, Cersei most frequently lamented her size. It didn’t matter than both the Maesters and the women about the Keep agree that she was carrying quite easily, nor that she had hardly gained any weight anywhere besides her swelling stomach. The mere fact that her dresses had been let out and now she was wearing simple, robe-like gowns tired her to no end. 

“They can’t seem to make me a decent dress,” She muttered one morning, still sitting naked as the day she was born on her bed, hair a mess about her shoulders. The handmaidens would be in in a moment, but for now she was watching Rhaegar dress, and bemoaning her shape yet again. “It cannot be that difficult to not make me look any… larger than I already am.”

“You’re not,” He sighed, internally groaning as he knelt before her and pressed a kiss to the skin above her navel. “You’re with child, Cersei, if you were no larger I would be quite worried.” He smiled laughingly up at her and kissed her nose. “Besides, you’re even more gorgeous now. Although when you scowl like that…”

“Shut up,” She huffed with a soft pout, though her emerald eyes twinkled in a smile. “I am not scowling.”

“No, you’re pouting now,” He winked. “And it’s far too sexy, you really must stop.” 

That got her to laugh, and she rolled her eyes at him, “You must make everything a joke, mustn’t you?” She smiled, before taking his face in her hands and kissing him deeply. “Go, before my father comes looking for you again.” It was her turn to wink, and she stood up just as her favorite handmaiden entered, nodding before the girl could speak and heading to her bath. 

Rhaegar rolled his eyes, but he was glad that she seemed to be cheered up. 

In high summer the realm was in peace, largely, and crops were up in Highgarden this season. Without the fear of Aery’s terror, the people were satisfied with things. Ruling was easy enough, which gave him far too much time to focus on his wife, much to her father’s apparent disdain. Of course, Rhaegar knew as well as Tywin did that him being pleased with Cersei, loving her as he did, was as much a blessing as it was a surprise. Still, he did make an effort to do rule, and the damages of his father’s reign had been repaired, the Greyjoys put back in their place and taxed by the realm, and the debt to the Iron Bank settled. He knew he had to prove to the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms that he wasn’t his father, nor was he some green boy caught up in being King. He could rule, and he would rule, and a better King than his father had ever been. 

To do that, the last year had shown, he needed Cersei’s support. Though she had become much more difficult in the past months, it was still worth it to the King to cater to her every whim so long as it kept her by his side and appeased. Her father gave good counsel, and Cersei rarely spoke in meetings or attended them anymore, but she gave excellent private council. He had no doubt if any man besides Tywin Lannister wore the title of Hand, she would have no qualms about speaking her mind, and giving him council. 

Still, he was grateful for a peaceful summer. He would not want any of his children to be born into the harshness of winter or war, though he knew the two were as inevitable as summer heat or Cersei’s tantrums. 

\--- 

The death of Queen Rhaella in childbirth had left behind Rhaegar's youngest sibling, a small if strong little girl. Daenerys had needed a mother, and the newly crowned queen knew her expectations. Quickly those had become much more than expectations, the more time she spent with the girl. She grew attached to her, and by the time the girl was nearly a year old, and the queen in her seventh moon of pregnancy, she was well bonded to her. Since Cersei spent fewer and fewer hours in court and meetings, she spent increasing time with the infant princess. The girl rarely left her side when the queen was in private. 

"Sei," Daenerys whined, unable to say the queens full name yet. Her small pouted lips pulled on the syllables and she managed to her the last one out. Rhaegar was "Rae" to the girl, and Cersei found it far too adorable. And besides, as the king often said, spending time with Daenerys was good practice for their own child. 

"What, little dragon?" Cersei laughed, picking her up and lounging in the garden chaise. "You're too small to be a dragon. More of a lizard."

The princess shook her head, tugging on the length of Cersei's braid as she sat on her lap, before resting her hands on the woman's swollen belly. "Sei?"

"Not a lizard then. Well, dragon it is." She laughed again, kissing her brow. "You'll have another little dragon to play with soon. Maybe a little boy, hmm? A prince?"

Dany pointed to Viserys in the yard with one of her tiny hands."Pwince!"

"Better than Viserys," Cersei muttered. She had no love for the younger prince, insipid and arrogant as he was. Scrawny and pale eyed, the boy looked like a washed out and emaciated version of her husband. With none of his kindness. Already the wet nurse was troubled by him with Daenerys. Cersei knew that Rhaegar as well hated the boy, and blood of the dragon or not, she wouldn't have him around her children. She'd already asked Rhaegar to send him to ward with another lord. 

She was only waiting for the king to find a suitable host.

Deanerys, on the other hand, was adorable and sweet and would be a perfect companion to Cersei's own child. The queen turned back to her and kissed her tiny nose. "You, princess, are far too cute..." She tickled the girl softly, beaming as she giggled. She could spend hours with the small girl, those violet eyes reminding her so much of Rhaegar, and she hoped her own children would do so as well. Violet eyed and silver haired, she wanted Targaryen children, princes and princesses, the future kings and queens of the realm. Well, no longer Queens. Rhaegar had said he was ending the tradition, and Cersei's had agreed. How could she tell him she didn't mind, that she and Jaime... She couldn't, and she never would. 

She ran a hand over her stomach and smiled softly, before arranging Dany on her hip and heading back into the Keep.

\---

Cersei went into labor on the hottest day of the summer, and coincidentally while Rhaegar was in the Kingswood hunting with Robert Baratheon. The man was a fool, and the King spent half the trip grinding his teeth over the japes he made about the Queen, as well as his own wife. When the rider came to tell him to return to the castle, it was a blessing. Still, the ride to the Red Keep could not have gone slower for the King, even though he rode far ahead of his kingsguard. Cersei would murder him herself if he missed the birth of their child. 

Thankfully, he arrived when she was still beginning the process, according to the Maesters. When he entered she looked composed, relaxed in the birthing bed. He wiped the sweat from his brow and walked over to her, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I was afraid I would miss it,” he murmured.

“I have been assured you won’t,” She sighed, though smiled softly, anxiously, at him. “Apparently it takes hours…” She briefly recalled the faint memories of her brother’s birth, her mother’s screams, the blank, thousand yard stare of her father as he had them escorted from the hall. And the blood, when she snuck back in to see, to understand. So much blood. And her twisted monster of a little brother lying in his cot, face red and ruddy, but sleeping peacefully. The memory drained the blood from her face and the smile from her lips, and she looked away from Rhaegar, a hand coming across her stomach as she tightened her grip on his hand. 

“What is it?” He murmured, but she couldn’t reply before a stronger contraction ripped through her and she forgot to breathe for a moment. More than, since he had to squeeze her hand and remind her to breathe. 

When it past Cersei panted softly, looking up at him. “What. What if…” She swallowed and dropped her voice. ‘What if it’s like Tyrion?” The unspoken was evident, her fears of her mother’s fate alongside those of failing the realm, her family, her father, and Rhaegar. 

Rhaegar froze for a moment and shook his head. “It won’t be. Don’t worry, it’ll be as perfect as you and you,” He paused, resting a hand on her cheek, “You will be fine.” She had to be. If she died in childbirth like Lysa Arryn had, he wouldn’t know what do with himself. He squeezed her hand again and kissed her brow. “Lyanna was just fine, and she sent a letter did she not?”

“Yes,” She sighed, looking up at him and bringing her breathing back to normal. “She did. She told me it would all be worth it in the end… but she has a healthy son, three months old. Of course she would say that.” She frowned, the stubborn cast to her features he so loved settling further. “She also doesn’t have dwarfs in her family line. I do!” 

“Neither do I,” He told her, “Just as you have no madness. Our children will be perfect, golden dragon cubs.” He laughed softly, having just come up with that. “Dragoncubs?”

Cersei rolled her eyes. “You think you’re so clever don’t you?” Still, he was right, there had been dwarfs in the Lannister line alone. Besides, Tyrion was born in a winter storm, when afflictions plagued the Rock. She was young, healthy, unrelated to Rhaegar, and it was high summer. She would be fine. 

After another half day of worry and pain, the Maester’s forced Rhaegar from the room. Or at least they tried to, since the King calmly refused and the Queen panicked at the thought. They let him stay, holding her hand and periodically losing the circulation in it as her contractions increased. 

Their daughter came into the world as the darkness was splitting into dawn, and Rhaegar already began thinking of new songs to herald her to. She was the second birth of the sun, after Cersei, and just as perfect. Sadly, when they announced it was a baby girl, he had to watch his Queen’s face turn crestfallen for a moment. He wanted to tell her it didn’t matter to him if she gave him sons or daughters, or any sons at all. To him, it mattered not. But he knew that her father would blame her, and expect her to give him a prince. The thought almost made him want to hit the man. But the look on her face past once the tiny girl was placed in her arms, and he watched Cersei’s face break out in a bright, if exhausted smile. 

“Hello,” She whispered to the small girl, cradling her expertly and kissing her tiny nose. After a minute she looked up at Rhaegar. “You were right… she’s perfect.”

“Yes she is.” He nodded, “And she couldn’t be more perfect. And Cersei,” He paused, leaning forward to kiss the Queen’s brow. “You did wonderfully. I don’t care that she’s a princess not a prince, and I will not let anyone tell you otherwise.” A princess could still be a head of the dragon, as in Aegon’s time. And he was sure there would be Prince’s to come. 

She was understandably surprised, flicking her eyes from his to her daughter, noting that she had the emerald green eyes of the Lannister family. The Queen swallowed and nodded, relieved and exhausted tears springing to her eyes. “Thank you,” She whispered, “Thank you, my love.” He always seemed to read her fears like that, and she knew she usually masked them. But maybe Rhaegar just knew her that well, and paid much more attention than anyone ever had. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” The king promised, running a hand over her hair as he too looked at their new child. “I should thank you though, you did all the work.”

“Indeed,” She laughed quietly, smiling as the baby grabbed at her robes. “Do you think she’s hungry?” The maesters had left, on orders from Rhaegar she hadn’t heard, and she felt comfortably free with just her husband and daughter. 

He beamed softly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Maybe she just wants to be closer to her mother. We should name her before the entire court demands it of us.” He ran a hand over the girl’s back, humming softly.

Cersei hummed as well, not the same tune, and looked between them again. “She looks like you. She should have a Targaryen name.” She hoped, truly, that all her children would have the Targaryen look. They were to carry on a dynasty, and though Rhaegar had married outside the bloodline (to preserve it, he claimed, the shadows of his father on his features), Westeros had always been ruled by silver-haired, violet-eyed dragons. She didn’t want to change that. 

“Did you have anything in mind?” He murmured, cutting into her thoughts. She knew he would be thinking of Visenya, since he so often called her that, but she didn’t want to name her something so well known. 

Of course, Tywin had filled her lessons with Targaryen history, and she ran through the names in her head. Her daughter may look like her father’s kin, but Cersei’s pride revolted against the purely Targaryen names, and those known to every peasant in the kingdom. Her daughter deserved something less common, and a name at least reminiscent of her own family’s names. “Daena? Or am I recalling that wrong?”

“The wife of Baelor the Blessed… no, that’s right.” Rhaegar murmured, “It’s a good name.” it sounded rather similar to his sister’s name, though Daenerys was only a year older than his daughter. Cersei had bonded well with the girl, but he expected that to change with the arrival of her own daughter. He would see to it that they grew up together, at least, since he could not force the Queen to mother his sister. He hoped she would continue to care for her though. 

She smiled softly. “Daena, then. Daena Joanna.” 

The King nodded and kissed her brow, before he allowed her the privacy of feeding her daughter, and went to tell Tywin the news. 

After he left, Cersei looked down at the tiny girl and smile tiredly, stroking back the feather light silvery blonde hair on her head. She didn’t speak, there were too many words clustered on her tongue and she had been up for too long and too exhausted by the labor to make them coherent. Her daughter would be beautiful, cherished, and loved, the Queen’s most prized possession. She smiled as she invited the child to suckle her breast, already despising the idea of a wet nurse. Propriety be damned, she knew Rhaegar wouldn’t mind if she insisted on caring for Daena herself. After all, she’d already proven herself more than capable with Daenerys, and her own child would be even easier. 

The fact that she had born a girl didn’t bother her now that she held her. Even the fact that both Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark already had male heirs just months older than her daughter didn’t phase her. Neither Joffrey Baratheon nor Robb Stark was the crown-anything of any realm, and her daughter was the crown princess. At least until a price came along, which he would. Considering how oft she and Rhaegar were joined, she knew it wouldn’t be long. And even if it were, the precious child now sleeping in her arms would be enough. Daena was hers, not given to her, not loaned or on her father or Rhaegar’s allowances, but hers. She made her, carried her, birthed her, screamed and bled for her. And Cersei would treasure her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note, Cersei is about 17 here, so we tried to have her be less hardened and a bit more emotional than she appears later in her life. Queen or not, she's still pretty young, and at this point her head is still in the clouds.


	5. Like the Sea Over Sand

“Cersei,” Rhaegar sighed, walking after his wife as she carried their daughter through the keep. Though it had been just a moon since Daena’s birth, the Queen had regained most of her figure and all of her speed. He had to hurry to keep up with her despite his much longer stride. “Cersei, by the Gods stop walking!” He exclaimed, grabbing her shoulder and nearly earning himself a slap for his trouble. “You can’t bring her with us, this is an important and lengthy visit, it wouldn’t do to bring her…”

“You would have me leave our child at home, in the care of some stranger, while we got to Dorne?” She growled, the anger in her eyes winning out over her protective fears. “No. I won’t leave her here; I would rather stay with her than go. I don’t see why you want me to go anyway.”

“You are my wife,” He reminded her, though the simple statement carried much more weight. Cersei felt it, and her glare hardened like cold rolled steel.

She paused a moment, fining him with a look of fury. “If you’re going to make me go and do as my duty commands, please you as you like, as your wife, then say it.” She spat darkly. It had been a habit of hers to use the defense, to play on his love for her and his desire to see her nothing but happy in order to get the things she wanted. Weak power, but all the power she could get. Being Queen carried little weight inside the keep, and though she could expend it elsewhere, she refused to leave Daena. The girl hadn’t even known a wet nurse, as the Queen insisted on caring for her herself and always had the girl at her side. 

Turning Rhaegar’s care against him was dangerous, she knew, and she could see the exasperation in his eyes when she did it. But he never raised his voice or a hand to her in protest of the choice, and she hoped he never would. 

The King stepped back and swallowed. “Fine you and Daena can stay here, and I will enjoy all that Dorne has to offer, alone.” The words sent ice into Cersei’s stomach, for he was playing the same game she was. He knew all her fears by now, save the most important one, and he played them expertly just as she did his. Her glare and mask crumpling, she gave him a last look before she turned away and began walking briskly through the keep. Though her gaze was hard and she refrained from running, hot tears dripped down her pale cheeks. Dorne, Dornish customs, and especially Dornish girls… she knew what most lords were like, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if Rhaegar took full advantage of her remaining in King’s Landing. The thought of him with someone else made her stomach lurch and she sat against the wall, leaning back. Daena whimpered in her arms and Cersei looked down at her, caressing the soft wisps of silver hair. “My good girl,” She whispered, though Daena still whimpered and started to fuss, something she did rarely even with the summer heat. Tension made for unhappy children, Cersei recalled hearing somewhere, and held her closer, kissing her brow. “Shhh, little dragon,” She whispered, more of a plea than anything, “It’s not time to cry now. Shhh.”

The tiny princess didn’t quiet, instead fussing more intently and letting out a cry, signaling a rare tantrum. With a sigh, the Queen stood up again and carried her to her private chambers. “Do not let anyone in,” she told the guard with all the authority she felt she deserved, “Not even the King.” The guard gave her a look but didn't question it, opening the door for her. 

Once safely inside Cersei loosened her bodice and let Daena nurse, chewing her own lip as her daughter seemed to quiet with the distraction. The Queen looked out the window to King’s Landing, her thoughts drifting aimlessly on the wind that blew through the gossamer drapes, bringing only more of the wet sea heat. Finally she made her way to her bedroom and nearly jumping out of her skin. 

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Rhaegar sighed, looking up at her from where he sat on her bed. Their bed, more often than not. 

She bit her lip and ignored him, waking to her vanity with the princess still at her breast. 

"Cersei," he huffed, "Don't you want to know why I'm here? I have a diplomatic envoy to organize."

"Of which I'm well aware. You're welcome to leave," she muttered, her lip between her teeth. "I would bet you simply can't wait to see how many girls you can fuck with your wife at home." Her gaze flicked up to him, teary, but masked behind anger. 

He didn't need to see it to understand. Within a breath he was next to her, giving her an exasperated look. "You are an idiot. The prettiest idiot I've yet to meet, and the cleverest, but an idiot."

"I am not-" he put his finger to her lips. 

"Why would I want whores when I have you? What reason have I given you to doubt me?”

Cersei paused, looking down at Daena and realizing the truth in his words, though her pride would not allow her to admit it. “None, but things are different in Dorne. I have heard their men take many lovers, as do their women… I wouldn’t be surprised if you…”

“I wouldn’t. And I would certainly hope you would be surprised!” The King sounded more offended than Cersei had meant to make him, and she sighed. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you, my lord…” She sighed, looking away from him and standing, rocking Daena gently. 

The King rolled his eyes. “My wife thinks me unfaithful, of course I’m offended,” He huffed, following her. “I have never given you a single reason to doubt me. And I never will, Dorne regardless.” He turned her to him and rested a hand on her shoulder, and another on Daena’s back. “You’re worrying her with all of this…”

Cersei bitterly looked down, but pulled the girl closer to her. “You’re the one who doesn’t want her to come and is making me stay home.” She turned away, the anger rolling off her in waves even though she understood he meant to comfort her. Maybe it was tension more than anger, and she closed her eyes for a moment before she laid Daena on her small cot. “What do you want me to say, Rhaegar? What is it you need from me?”

“I don’t need anything,” He told her calmly, wrapping his arms around her middle and guiding her to him. “I don’t need or want anything besides you, by my side.” Holding her though she had only stiffened in his arms, he kissed her hair. “Cersei… Cersei… my Cersei. The light of the West… my Visenya.” He leaned in and kissed her ear. “Why would I need anyone else when I have you?”

She swallowed, but leaned into him after a moment. “Don’t go. Stay here, until Daena’s older… and then I’ll come with you. It’s still summer, and it shows no sign of ending…”

He sighed. “I suppose… how long? I cannot keep the Martell’s waiting forever.”

“You give them too much freedom as it is.” 

“Would you have me go to war on Dorne, my Queen?” he teased, thumbing along her stomach. “Lay siege where even Aegon the conqueror failed? Think of how long I’d be apart from you then.”

She rolled her eyes and looked at him. “Of course not. You’re being ridiculous.” She turned to him and rested her hand on the black robes he wore. Her nails ran over the fine crimson embroidery and she looked up at him. “If you went to war… I would be alone far too long. Make other men fight your wars, Rhaegar.”

Staring at him for a moment, Cersei was dead serious, but she soon heard the King’s laugh and let out dark huff of air. “Fine. Go to Dorne. But take Jaime with you, at least he’ll tell me if you fuck anyone else.”

She felt Rhaegar look down at her and his hands on her cheeks, raising her gaze. “I have already said I would rather wait and have you accompany me, not your twin. The Kingslayer is a poor replacement for you, as similar as you look."“ He laughed when she scowled and cupped her cheek. “You know how I feel about your brother, you don’t need to worry.” 

“You know how I feel about that title,” She grumbled, though she did so half-heartedly and smiled at him. “You will wait though?” 

“I’ll wait,” He nodded. Cersei knew how much patience it must have took for him to talk through each of their little arguments when she was so petulant. With that realization, she felt suddenly guilty and looked down. 

She looked up after another moment and leaned up to kiss him softly. “Thank you, my king.” An apology lingered thick on her tongue like clotted cream, but her pride held her lips closed and her tongue stiff in its iron fist. 

“Of course,”’ Rhaegar smiled softly. He kissed her softly. “I’ll stay here, and relax. And the we will go to Dorne and both enjoy all it has to offer.” She smiled, and he kissed her softly again. 

\---

In three months the King and Queen left for Dorne, leaving the Princess in the care of Cersei’s favorite handmaiden, a capable wet-nurse, and under the watchful eyes of Tywin and Jaime. Cersei hadn’t been comfortable at first with letting her twin leave her side. Of course, since her marriage they had grown apart in many ways, and now that he was back with her, there was still a rift between them. She no longer longed for him in the way that she once had. Rhaegar was everything she had dreamed of, and though there were moments when she wished she could confide in Jaime, or where she yearned for the feeling of his hands on her, his mouth, but then she would stop herself. Jaime… Jaime… Jaime still loved her, in the way that he had before he left. She could see it in his eyes when he watched her, as she laughed with her husband or held her daughter. She knew the lord commander of the Kingsguard didn’t permit him to stand guard outside her rooms, but she suspected he heard her with the King anyway. Why she couldn’t fathom. 

He was unhappy, but unwilling to leave her. And when she asked him to watch Daena, she watched his face fall, but he forced a smile. “You can’t come, Jaime…” she sighed, keeping her voice down as she led him down the hall. “And you love Daena.”

“Of course I do,” He sighed, looking down at her and taking her hand. “She’s your daughter.” Cersei knew he imagined that she was theirs, wishing as he always had that they had been able to marry. He used to joke about it as children, running away to the free cities with her. But she had her King now, she was the Queen, and she was happy. But Jaime… Jaime would never be.

Still, Cersei squeezed his hand and pulled hers back. “I know you’ll take care of her, Jaime. You know how hard it is for me to leave her here.”

He nodded. “I will, but she has a wet-nurse. I’m not much good to her yet. I thought you wanted to take her with you..."

"I did. But... I don't think Dorne is any place to bring an infant."

"I suppose." Jaime sighed. "I'll watch her. And I'll walk with her in the gardens like you do." At seventeen, they still looked similar enough, though had shorn his golden locks off when he joined the Kingsguard. He knew how tender Cersei was with her child, and under the guise of protector he would be as well. 

Cersei smiled brilliantly at him and kissed his cheek. He tried to turn his face and get her lips, but she pulled away. "Thank you. I'll see you in a month."

The next day he held the princess against the cool plate of his white armor, watching his sister ride off with the king. The ache in his chest was more pressing than he expected as the princess squirmed in his arms. Jaime had no idea how long he stood there, only that by the time he left the carriage and horses (who would have thought Cersei would choose to ride her horse out of the city) had long since slipped from view. 

They rode through the city on horseback, Cersei’s cheeks burning from smiling the whole way by the time they were on the Kings road. She glanced over at her husband and nudged her horse closer. “I’ve never been to Dorne, you know. The Martells visited us at Casterly Rock once, but we never visited them. Father doesn’t care for the heat.”

“I do believe it is the customs he doesn’t care for,’ Rhaegar corrected with a smirk. “But he can’t stop me from showing his daughter all that the place has to offer, now that I have stolen her.” 

She laughed and smirked softly, “You hardly stole me,’ She winked, “In fact, I think it was I who made the first move on you.” Of course, she’d long since told him of the embarrassing amount of planning that went into that chance encounter, but it still called a soft blush to her cheeks. 

The King just laughed. “You are a brazen one, my Queen.” Out of anyone else’s mouth it would have been an insult, but from him she adored the compliment. “And I can tell from that smirk of yours you know just how much I adore it.” 

“And if I do?”

 

He winked. “Then I think… we should relocate to the carriage so I can show you just how much I adore it.”

Cersei stared at him for a moment and laughed, rolling her eyes. “We’re not in Dorne yet, my lord. And I will not have you showing me anything while we’re in a carriage.” She may be no simpering wife, in or out of the bedchamber, but she was raised to have certain standards. Letting the King, husband or not, have her in a moving carriage where any number of his guard could hear or see did not even remotely fall within those guidelines. So she simply rolled her eyes at him again and urged her horse a little faster. “Ask me again when we stop for the night,” She teased, smirking wickedly. 

It was lovely to ride and to tease Rhaegar, but eventually Cersei grew sore and retreated to the carriage, making her Lord Husband come with her so she could lay her head on his shoulder. He was a patient man, that much could be said for him. She rested her head in his lap since no one could see them, having to loosen her corset after lying there and feeling it press against her ribs. At least in Dorne she could forgo wearing one, and dress in the looser, more flowing styles she had commissioned, similar to those of old Valyria. She would look like a true Targaryen bride now.

The journey progressed rather relaxed, though the stop in the Stormlands on the fourth day was nearly extended to a fortnight. Cersei wished to visit Lyanna and her new babe, and Robert was still trying to make peace with the King and Queen. In truth, if not for the close relationship between Lyanna and Cersei they may not have stopped there at all.

“I miss Daena,” Cersei sighed, laying across the bed and watching her closest friend hold her son. Unlikely friends, but closer now than ever. “I know Jaime will care for her… but I do wish she could have come.”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Lyanna hummed, stroking the soft black hair on Joffery’s head, laughing when his little face scrunched up. “I doubt the wailing of an infant would improve your trip.”

The Queen watched her and sighed wistfully. “She hardly cries. Even when she’s hungry she fusses more than anything, though that may be because I am never away from her long enough to worry her. But she has her father’s temperament, or Jaime’s. According to my septas I was a very demanding child.”

Lyanna grinned and arched a brow. “Somehow that is very easy to believe, my Queen,” she teased. “But you’re lucky. This one is a right screamer. Definitely Baratheon… he’s far too loud to have much Stark in him.” There was a wistful tone to her voice, for it was all too easy to see the husband she was quickly coming to detest in her new son. Of course she loved him, with all her heart, but she hoped her next babe would have grey eyes and paler skin, and be of her blood more than this one. For Robert may claim to love her, but when he crawled over her stinking of whores and Dornish sour she lost faith in his words. 

Still, he was the handsome Lordling she loved and had loved, and there were times that he was a good as she could imagine. 

Cersei picked up on the melancholy but didn’t press. There were things they did not talk about, and Lyanna’s marriage had become one of them. Best to focus on the children. “You are lucky to have born a boy though,” She mused, “Rhaegar claims he does not care what sex our children are… but all men want sons don’t they?” She sighed, sitting up a little. “I’m beginning to think my father only wants me to bear boys, so I may carry on both the Targaryen and Lannister lines. He’d brave the seven hells before he left it to Tyrion.” 

Lyanna knew all too well of Cersei’s hatred of her youngest brother. “The Imp,” She sighed, “Is the lord of Casterly Rock. He will be Warden of the West someday, lest you can convince your husband to remove his titles. As if you would sacrifice Lannister pride like that. And besides,” she rocked Joffrey, hoping to quiet him, “Rhaegar seemed intrigued by him.” 

With a huff, Cersei sat up fully. “I’m all too aware of that fact. He wouldn’t remove him, no matter how much father or I desire it. He thinks he’s clever.” She rolled her eyes, but Lyanna shook her head.

“Don’t be so hard on him,” she sighed, “He may surprise you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

After a moment Lyanna laughed softly and Cersei joined her after a moment. After a minute they roused Joffrey, who started to wail, his small face rumpled and reddening. Certainly Baratheon then. 

“I’ll leave you to that…” The Queen laughed, not one for wailing children, since Daena was so passive and quiet. But Lyanna stopped her, rested a hand on her arm and calling the wet nurse to handle the child. “Come, I want to show you around Storm’s End. At least it’s not actually storming, for once.”

She agreed, waiting for Lyanna to fix her dress and take her arm. “And I suppose your husband has completely corralled mine, yes?” They both knew Rhaegar held no love for Robert, only a thin respect. And after the Lord of the Stormlands failures in the Greyjoy rebellion, even that was waning.

“He seems to think he can bribe him with food, drink, and whores. Won’t listen to me about it,” she held up a hand, “I have already told him the King has no taste for baser pleasures. Robert evidently can’t fathom a man being satisfied with his wife alone.”

The Queen sighed and pursed her lips. “I will admit I had the same fear, when Rhaegar initially planned to go to Dorne. He was going to go without me… knowing my worries.” A slight blushed appeared on her lightly tanned cheeks, brought to life by her walks with Daena in the gardens. Lyanna knew all in her heart save what she had with Jaime. The other woman had even replaced her twin in her confidence. Jaime still believed she would feel dissatisfied with Rhaegar and turn to him once more, but Cersei knew otherwise. She confided in Rhaegar and she confided in Lyanna, and that was what she needed. It only hurt Jaime to be as close to him as she once had, though they still spoke frequently and at length. 

"We all know your worries, me especially, as I am part to blame for them." Lyanna sighed, leading her from her rooms, "In fact, while you were dressing your husband pulled me aside to ask that I stop filling your head with these worries."

"He what?" She gasped, stopping Lyanna in the corridor. 

"Asked me to stop making you fear that he will turn out to be like my husband," she sighed, shrugging. "Let's go outside, you can see Shipbreaker Bay from here and it's fascinating."

\--- 

They left Storms End after three days by ship, for the road to Dorne was not a passable one. Not unless the King wished to force his Queen to ride a sand stead through the desert. It was not an appetizing idea. 

Still, neither the King nor Queen were fond of the sea, and spent most of the journey curled in their cabin below deck trying not to get sick. Once they arrived in Sunspear Cersei practically dragged her husband from the boat, legs shaky. "Careful, my Queen," a man called in front of her, his voice accented more than she had expected. Then again, most of the Dornishmen and women she had met had lived in the Capitol most of their lives. 

Rhaegar straightened himself and took Cersei’s arm. “Let’s go, my love. The Prince of Dorne is expecting us.”

Prince Oberyn Martell led them down the dock. He was eight years older than Cersei, exceedingly pleasing to the eye, and if the rumors were to be believed he was on a quest to bed everyone in the seven kingdoms. That would at least explain why he was flirting with the Queen and the King. Cersei found it tiresome and annoying, but Rhaegar laughed.

“You’re very bold, prince Oberyn.” The King laughed, “Though I think you’ll find my wife is not inclined in the Dornish ways.”

“Really?” Oberyn chuckled, walking beside the king but glancing over at Cersei. “From what I have heard of your married life, my King, that’s not entirely true…”

That nearly got him slapped by the Queen. “What? Prince Oberyn, I think you have grossly overstepped-”

“In jest,” he laughed, stepping next to her. “Don’t be so uptight, my Queen. You will never enjoy your visit.” Lannister pride would never permit her to engage in the activities and desires that Oberyn himself adored. It may do her some good, though, to relax and indulge. 

He turned and led them up a path. Sunspear was set atop a low cliff only 50 feet above the ocean. Cersei followed the Prince wondering if everyone in Dorne was quite like this or if he was merely an exception. He was telling them about his daughters, which gave Cersei pause.

“I didn’t know you were married…” she hummed. 

“Oh, My Queen I think being married would be so boring, one must keep life interesting. No, I have four daughters, each with a different woman. Obara is my eldest, 11; she is the daughter of a whore that I enjoyed one night in Oldtown. Nymeria is the second oldest, she is 9. Her mother was a stunning woman from some fancy noble family in Volantis. After that is Tyene, she is 7 years old, her mother was septa… and so as you can imagine she looks rather pure. She is also closest with her cousin Arianne who you will meet if you choose to visit the Water Gardens, despite the fact that Arianne is between Nymeria and Obara in age. Last is Sarella, she is only 3 but already enjoys doing whatever she is told not to.” 

His explanation silenced the Queen, and she pointedly arched a brow at her husband. Rhaegar only smiled. “We will have to meet them all sometime, and yes, we were planning a visit to the water gardens in a few days time.”

By this point they had reached the castle and began to wind their way through the halls of the castle to base of the Spear Tower. Oberyn lead them all the way to the top, asking Cersei about Daena and the capital. When the reached the top he opened a door for them, turned and left.

Rhaegar knew where they were of course, and that the tower itself was commonly reserved for highborn prisoners, but he held that from his wife. Cersei would take it as an offense while he clearly knew it to be the Prince of Dorne offering them both the privacy and luxury that the tower could afford. So he smiled at Oberyn and led Cersei inside. 

“One room,” she mused, though a delightedly saucy smile pulled at her lips. “This will be fun.”

“Indeed,” Rhaegar grinned, shutting the door and guiding her to the large balcony, overlooking the seas as far as the eye could see. “And no one to interrupt us…”

She leaned back into him as she watched the waves, lovely to see, but not for much else. “You did mention you needed to be here for the good of the realm…”

“Ah, caught me,” he laughed, “After the feast tonight you can come back here or go see the rest of the palace, for I have to meet with Prince Doran. You and I both know Dorne is not the same as the other kingdoms. My father nearly broke the peace, and I have no interest in having them seek independence because of his madness.” 

“I know,” She hummed, “But I would prefer to watch you rule. May I sit in?”

Rhaegar considered for a moment and nodded, though a bit reluctantly. “I suppose he won’t mind. You are the only council I brought, after all. And becoming one of the best I have.”

She grinned, turning to kiss him softly. “You won’t regret it, my King.”

Once they had regained themselves from the journey, and settled into their shared rooms (something which had surprised, and delighted, both the King and Queen), Cersei donned the lighter dresses she had commissioned for this trip. The scarlet silk tied around her neck and gathered beneath her breasts, still fuller than they would have been had she not been nursing Daena herself, and then hung down in loose folds to the floor. It was translucent, and even partially transparent. Obviously it was having an effect on the King, who ran his hands over her partially exposed back as he tied the dress at her neck. 

“You like it?” She laughed softly, smirking as he rested his face in the cascade of her hair against her neck. 

“Of course I do. And every other man at the feast will as well.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen what the Dornish girls wear,” she scoffed, “And I think that Prince has made it abundantly clear that I am not up to par.”

Rhaegar sighed, “The prince has yet to see you like this. And you have to relax, Cersei. He was right, you need to let yourself enjoy Dorne. Eat, drink, dance, don’t think of it as a chore.” He turned and kissed her softly, moving a wisp of gold off her face. “You’ll like it much more if you have some fun.” With another short kiss, he released her, he slipped the lighter black robe over his shirt, fastening the silver clips and shaking out his hair. 

Cersei watched him and smiled teasingly, taking a deep breath. “I’ll try, my King.” She purred, “Shall we?”

He guided her down from the tower and then they were escorted to the throne room. The palace at Sunspear had a seaside brilliance both King’s Landing and Casterly Rock shared, but it was more open, with large views of the sea and flowing curtains of deep purple that blew with the sea wind. The fabric of Cersei’s dress blew with the wind as well, and gathered around her slender legs. As starting an image that would have been for her to present in the capitol, once they entered the throne room, she realized it was tame.

At least half the women wore dresses nearly see-through, with plunging necklines. The Royal couple stood out plainly against the mass of people, wrapped in their red and black against the pale pastels of the Dornishmen and the deep purple of the Princes. Still, the crowd clapped and parted for them to enter and walk to the high table. Prince Doran bowed to them and kissed Cersei’s hand. “Welcome to Sunspear.” He grinned.

They enjoyed the feast, to a level that would have been out of place in King’s Landing. Rhaegar made sure to get enough wine in his wife that she finally relaxed, allowing him to spin her around the room in elaborate dances and listen to her laugh. She made quite the favorable impression on Doran Martell while he danced with her and while they spoke over food. It was almost funny to watch Cersei eat, for she’d been craving the heat of Dornish food all through her pregnancy, and it had not waned. 

By the end of the feast the Queen was far too tired for a meeting, as was the King, and the hour had grown late. It didn’t truly matter than the meeting was postponed; Rhaegar had already achieved half of what he set out to Dorne to do. He had proved to Doran and the rest of the Martells that he was not his father, that he did not have aspirations of taking over or laying siege, and that he was of sound mind. He may be young, and he may have over indulged in the feast, but they didn’t seem to mind that he had a good time. In fact, it probably did more for their camaraderie with Dorne than his father’s snobbish treatment ever had. 

“I’m going to trip,” Cersei’s voice startled him out of his thoughts as they made their way up the darkened stairwell to the tower. They were flanked by Kingsguard of course, and Rhaegar motioned to one somewhat jerkily. 

“Help her up,” he half-slurred, “Pick her up,” he suggested after a moment.

The man raised an eyebrow and lifted the Queen, carrying her up the steps to their rooms and setting her back to her feet at the door. He and the other guard took up their places on either side of the double doors. 

Cersei turned and took Rhaegar’s hand, drawing him into their rooms and letting the heavy doors swing shut with resounding clang against their hinges. He kissed her once the door was shut, and worked his fingers into the light silks of her dress. It soon was joined by his robe on the floor, and then their small clothes before they fell into bed. 

It was clumsy, their kisses uneven and desperate. He had wanted her since the journey began, having not had her since Daena, and she evidently shared the desire. Though it had been months, they fell into a familiar and eager rhythm, and after mere moments collapsed into the bed, a crumpled heap on the silken sheets and pillows. 

When they woke in the morning the desert heat struck first, and they were all but stuck together. Cersei laughed and she pushed at her husband. “Rhaegar,” she hummed, “My king…” she ran her hands up his spine, rolling out from underneath him. The sea breeze was warmer than she expected, and she walked to the window with nothing but her waist-length hair to cover her. 

When Rhaegar opened his eyes it was to the view of his wife backlit by the midmorning sun, and one he wished he could save forever. “Cersei,” He mumbled, her name strung out on his lips. 

“We’re supposed to speak with the Prince in an hour,” she hummed, “Out of bed, my King. Or you’ll not make a very good impression. And isn’t that why we’re here?”

“Too early to be clever,” The King grumbled with a laugh, watching her as she turned to him, thinking she was going to rejoin him when she walked out of sight. “I had them draw us a hot bath,” she hummed from out of his line of sight, and with a sigh the King ambled out of bed and walking into the attached room, seeing his Queen already immersed in a large tub. 

The visit turned out to be largely pleasure and very little business. Doran and Rhaegar met about shipping rights and wine taxes for all of an afternoon while Cersei got to see the Shadow City (or what little of it there truly was to see) beyond the castle walls. 

They spent the first week about Sunspear, as apparently there was little else to see but sand in Dorne. Rhaegar was persuaded to visit the vineyards, and the King and Queen drank themselves content on the finest Dornish wines. The next week they were shown around the deserts, though Cersei cared nothing for it. She went to water gardens a day ahead of Rhaegar in company of Prince Doran.

“The Water Gardens are my favorite place in this world,” The Prince told her, and Cersei smiled brightly. She much preferred him to his younger brother, his more quiet nature reminding her of both her father and her husband. She found it comforting. “They are where many children are raised, here in Dorne, but I enjoy them just as much. And I think you will as well.”

She did. They rode the short three leagues to the private palace, and she was shown about the gardens before her rooms. Seeing them made her truly wish she had brought Daena. Numerous children played in the pools and around them, ran down the marble pathways and into buildings. It was chaotic, and yet innocent and calmingly peaceful at the same time. Cersei sat next to Prince Doran and hummed. “I wish there were a place like this in King’s Landing,” she mused, “I can… picture my daughter here.”

“You’re welcome to bring her if you should visit again,” Doran smiled softly, “Dorne is different from the rest of the Kingdoms. I am surprised you like it so well, My Queen, since the Westerlands are nothing like it.”

She chuckled softly. “Perhaps that is why I like it so much. Maybe… my mother might have known. She had once thought I should marry Oberyn.” She shook her head, “Having met him now…”

“It would not have been a good match,” Doran nodded. “I cannot picture my brother married to anyone, least of all a woman such as yourself. I mean no offense by that. You two are simply very different.”

The Queen nodded, letting out a sigh. “I have been very lucky, I think.”

“You’re the Queen, of course you have!” Doran laughed, watching her, “Ah. But it’s more than that. You do love the King don’t you? And a rare thing that is, in a highborn lady’s marriage.” He paused, looking out at the sea. “Be careful, my queen. Love sours like wine in the sun”

She looked up at him in sharp surprise, but before she could ask if he meant his own marriage, several girls approached them. The elder three bowed, all save one who carried a toddler in her arms. 

“Ah, Arienne.” Doran hummed, though Cersei knew not which girl he meant. At first she assumed the others were Highborn as well, until she considered. 

“And Oberyn’s daughters?” She asked quietly. 

“Yes, my Queen,” One of the older girls smiled. “I’m Arienne Martell, and these are the Sand Sisters.” The other girls smiled, and Cersei found herself unsure of what to do next. She hadn’t been brought up to expect to be greeted by bastards. But seeing the little one a smile tugged at her lips, despite herself. 

“Your father was telling me of you four,” she nodded, “Lovely to meet you all.” Her smile was only partially false, but she shifted uncomfortably on the stone bench. The second youngest one, seven, if she recalled, looked up at her. “You’re prettier than I thought you would be,” She giggled, “I like your hair.”

Cersei stared at her for a moment and then laughed softly. “Why thank you, little one.”

She spent the day in the water gardens with all five girls, or at least four when the eldest wandered off. And when Rhaegar and Oberyn arrived that night, both were surprised to find her telling Sarella and Tyene stories. 

When they left the water gardens a week later, the girl’s were sad to see her go. Nymeria and Arienne had made her a crown of water lilies and braided it into her hair, and she kept it in until they returned to sunspear. 

“You enjoyed the visit more than I thought you would,” Rhaegar hummed as they broke their final fast in the Spear tower. 

“I did,” Cersei nodded, “Prince Doran reminds me of you and father. We get on well.”

The King nodded. He had seen it, and he presumed much of the reason the visit had been such a success was her rapport with the elder Martell bother. “He has extended an invitation to you if you would ever want it. Dorne is a safe place to be, Cersei. Should we ever end up in a war, it would be prudent to send you here.”

She arched a brow. “Are you planning a war?” 

“No,” he scoffed, “But it’s also a good place to travel in the winter. King’s Landing gets cold, and full of beggars.” he saw her nose turn up slightly, and laughed. “Precisely.”

Cersei rolled her eyes and laughed softly. “I wouldn’t leave you, Rhaegar. Though if it ever does come to a war I may consider it. I can weather a winter.”

\---

The return journey to King’s Landing was worse than the initial voyage. Though Rhaegar seemed to fare far better, Cersei spent nearly the entirety of the journey sick to her stomach. 

Rhaegar watched her, smoothing back her hair and having servants bring her tea and wafers, but little soothed her. After the fourth day he sat next her and rubbed her back. “Cersei,” He murmured, “Do not take offense, but when was the last time you bled?”

There was a pause, and then Cersei laughed. “You don’t think… so soon?”

“I don’t see why not,” he shrugged, “I had you often while we were in Dorne, and you’ve been unusually sick.”

She closed her eyes and thought for a moment, "it could be. I did not bleed on the visit."

He nodded and took her hand, kissing her fingers. After a moment he turned to kiss her, caressing her cheek. He had learned after the last time that it was better to focus on Cersei, on the miracle that she was giving him and not on the prophecy that she was helping to fulfill. So unlike the last time he kissed her deeply and rested his hands on her stomach. 

"I hope..." She murmured against his lips. "I hope it's a boy this time. A Prince." 

"A prince or a princess. It matters not to me," he promised, his hands remaining over her stomach as he kissed her brow. This time he would not spend the first months with his wife embittered and distant. Instead the king doted on her, worshipping her in bed and out of it. For the first several months she still carried Daena about, but soon it became too cumbersome. 

Earlier than before the queen soon no longer fit her stylish dresses, but in the heat of summer she wore silks and Dornish gowns that gathered beneath her full breasts and accommodated the swell of her stomach. But her sheer size worried her. "This can't be normal." She sighed as the older septa dressed her, measuring out silks for her gown for a feast. 

"How far are you?" The older woman smiled, switching fabrics. 

"Pycell claims about 5 months," the Queen nodded, running her fingers over the gold embroidery. 

The woman rested a hand on her arm with a bright smile. "Two, then. You will have two."

The certainty in her voice startled Cersei, but she wasn't entirely surprised by the words. She had never been this large with Daena, this early at least, nor had she been this sickly and tired. But two... It made a sort of sense. Still, Cersei didn't tell Rhaegar, and kept the possibility close to her heart. She was still fearful that she would bear more girls, and that there would never be an heir for the kingdoms. 

She needn't have worried 

Her twins came as the white ravens announcing autumn were sent out, in quick succession of each other after a surprisingly brief labor. Both boys screamed louder than Daena had in her entire short life, but were healthy.

Cersei lay back in the birthing bed with one of the boys in her arms, the room still dimly lit with early morning light. "They look like you," she mused, the exhaustion clear in her voice. She could barely keep her eyes open as she held the first boy, his eyes already open and peering up at her. "Except... Well." 

The twins had mismatched eyes. Each painfully bright in it's own color, but one violet and the other Cersei’s own emerald. It was startling, but the maesters claimed they were healthy. 

"They're perfect," Rhaegar grinned, kissing her hair softly. The boy in his arms was the louder of the two, making soft noises as his father held him. "And hungry, by the sound of it..."

He placed the boy in her arms and Cersei attempted to nurse both twins. It wasn't as easy as with Daena but she managed, though Rhaegar had his doubts. "We might need a wet nurse this time, you've not yet weaned Daena and with two more..."

She nodded, her eyes already closing again. 

"...You’re going to need the help." He finished, running his fingers through her hair and rubbing her scalp, soothing her. 

The dragon must have three heads, and he had them. Cersei had given him three perfect children in barely a year and he could not love her more for it. Not only that... But she had satisfied the realm, by giving him heirs. Two, no less. But it was more than that. Rhaegar knew that most marriages were not like his own. Most high lords did not consider their wives allies and companions beyond the making of heirs. Most scoffed at the way he treated his wife. Most had little care for their younger children, even less if they were girls, and would not dote on Daena the way he did. His was not just a family in name but in practice and he adored all that had come to be. It further proved to him he was not like his father. 

Without realizing it Rhaegar too fell asleep, still sitting in a chair beside his wife, their sons curled on her chest. Cersei woke first, smiling adoringly down at the boys. "You need names," she hummed, glancing over at Rhaegar. "And your father is asleep."

"Not...asleep," the King muttered, forcing his eyes open and to focus on her. "What were you saying?"

"Names, love," she laughed, glancing down at her sons. 

"Of course," he smiled, waking more and taking one- he wasn't sure which- from her. "You should name one of them. They may be Targaryens but they have as much Lannister blood..."

She was shaking her head and he stopped. "Look at them. They already look like you. They're Targaryen children. They need Targaryen names." Else she would feel too close to Jaime, who had always wanted them to have twins of their own. Lannister twins were one soul torn in two, and she would not wish that on her sons. After a pause she looked up at him, a slight furrow on her brow. "Your prophecy. The prince that was promised?" He gave a surprised nod. They hadn't spoken of it for nearly a year. "Well... They need strong Targaryen names. And the three heads of the dragon... Aegon Targaryen. That's what we'll name the first one," she smiled, reaching out to rest her hand on the blanket covered back of the newborn Rhaegar held. "Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name."

Surprised, but delighted, Rhaegar grinned down at the boy. "Aegon. Even your father would approve. And for the other?"

She laughed softly at the mention of her father. "We are not naming our son Tywin. But... It should sound similar enough to Aegon." He trusted her, in that. She was the one with the twin brother after all. 

"Aemon?" She wrinkled her nose and he laughed. "Okay. Um... Well, not Aerys. God no." His expression darkened for a moment and he shook his head. "What about Aerion? It has a bit of Lannister to it as well..."

She nodded slowly and looked down at the boy nestled against her chest. "Aerion. Aegon and Aerion Targaryen."

\---

In the next month the Capitol prepared for a feast to rival that of the royal wedding. It was Rhaegar’s choice, one that Cersei protested vehemently. Or as vehemently as she could when she spent at least half of each day with the children. Dany was walking and talking now, quite the tiny terror. She really only listened to Cersei, and had discovered that if she managed to find the blonde woman before anyone else found her, she wouldn't get scolded 

"Sei!" She chirped, running to the queen in the pavilion on chubby legs. "Sei! Sei! Sei!"

Cersei laughed and set Daena on the chaise, stepping closer and scooping the tiny princess up. At all of three she was closer to the queens own children than her brothers, and the queen treated her as such. Dany sat beside Daena and giggled, playing with the princess. Though Dany was a year older, the two were inseparable at this age. 

Cersei watched then while they played, Daena following Daenerys as best she could while still unsure in her footing. 

The twins had wet nurses, though they were still outside with the Queen and she doted on them as much as she could. Lying back on the chaise Cersei pulled the boys onto the lap and let then make a mess of her hair. A loud commotion drew her attention to the far side if the garden and the horse lane there. Viserys was coming through, obviously out of control of his horse. Even if Cersei hadn't already hated the boy, the sight of him careening toward them on horseback would have frightened her. 

In a second she had stood and grabbed the twins, the nurse grabbing Daena and her guard Dany. They moved just in time for the horse to hit the pavilion and Viserys to go flying off, underfoot. 

"Seven Hells!" Cersei screamed, jumping back further and nearly dropping Aerion as the pavilion fell, the startled horse shaking off the debris and running off. 

After a stilled, choking silence settled on the gardens, the Kingsguard rushed forward and started to pull back the pieces of the wreck. 

Cersei didn't realize she was shaking until they escorted them away from the scene and she could barely walk. It wasn't that she cared for Viserys... Not in the least. But seeing that... She felt arms around her and startled further. The twins were no longer in her arms, and she panicked further, trying to get out of the arms around her. 

"Cersei! Cersei!" Jaime’s voice. It cut into her thoughts as he pulled her closer to his chest and tried to stop her shaking. "Cersei. Calm down! You're safe. Your children are safe."

She shook in his arms and tears streamed down her cheeks. There was debris in her long hair, and a tear in her dress though she was otherwise unharmed. He turned her and cradled her against his armor. "Cersei... You are fine. Listen to me. The twins and Daena and the princess are in the nursery. They are shaken, but fine. You need to calm down. Now." It didn't seem to make a dent in her panic, and she was hiccupping on each breath. 

Jaime pulled her tighter to him though the armor could not have been comfortable. She eventually calmed, looking up at him. "Where are the children?” It was more if a demand than a question, and Jaime watched as Cersei hardened into his queen before his eyes. She drew herself up and walked to the nursery. 

That was where Rhaegar found her several hours later, on Daena’s small cot surrounded by all four children. He sat at the edge of the bed and caressed her hair, holding Daenerys in his lap. 

"Rhaegar?" 

He glanced at Cersei and saw her sit up, managing to avoid sending their three moons old sons into a crying fit by waking them. "Yes," he breathed, frowning as he held his sister. "Viserys... They couldn't do anything." The boy had been crushed to death, beneath the pavilion and the horse’s hooves. He had heard the report from a number of witnesses, and he didn't need to hear what Cersei had to say. Obviously she was shaken enough. 

She reached up and caressed his cheek. "I'm so sorry, my love..." He leaned into her hand though he knew Cersei had not cared much for the boy. Honestly, neither had he, but he was still of his blood. And to die in such a way... 

"Are you alright?" He asked abruptly. "I know you barely missed being hit." Losing his brother was one thing, losing Cersei or one of his own children another entirely. The boy was troublesome and dangerous, mean to his sister and Daena. No one in the Capitol would mourn him, as they would have anyone else. 

Cersei looked down at the children for a moment and nodded. "I will be. I... I believe I was in shock for a while. It... It's a bit unclear."

Watching her he could see that she wasn't all okay, and sighed. " I spoke with ser Jaime. He told me... You were in panic Cersei." He didn't mean to offend her; merely that he was worried for her. 

"Of course I was," she whispered. "If I hadn't been watching..."

"But you were. And I won't let anything happen to you."


	6. Tiptoe Through Our Shiny City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING** There is SPOUSAL ABUSE in this chapter. If that is triggering for you, only read the first half.   
> **TRIGGER WARNING** There is also MISCARRIAGE in this chapter. If that's triggering for you only read the second half.

Winter struck sooner than predicted, and with a ferocity that dumped snow as far south as the mountains of Dorne. With the snows and the howling winds, it seemed all of Westeros retreated to their holdfasts, and the capitol was strangely still and silent. The long summer before it meant they were in for an even longer winter, and the children would spend the first few years with the sight of King’s Landing covered in snow. 

Whereas before she had walked around the gardens with the children and entertained visitors, Cersei seemed to take a more avid role in Winter’s simpler politics, though she still spent hours with their young children. 

It was her first harsh winter in memory, for those before it had been mild. Or maybe it was the sea air near the Rock, but winter in King’s Landing seemed a miserable affair. The Red Keep was never warm enough, and even in her rooms deep inside the palace she shivered. Her handmaidens took to keeping the fire stoked day and night, for the Queen constantly shivered and sneezed. 

The children though seemed to love the snow, even the twins though they were just discovering walking. Since Cersei rarely went out of the castle walls, Rhaegar and Jaime would take them to play in the thick snows while Cersei watched as best she could from the Keep. 

“Was the winter always this hard on her?” Rhaegar asked Jaime as they built castles in the snow for the twins to smash. 

Jaime paused and shrugged. “I do not think so. But the winters in Casterly Rock were more wet than cold. She never like to go out much in winter though.” Rhaegar was tolerable, now. He’d been married to Cersei more than two years, and Jaime had never seen any cause to be alarmed by the King. He cared for Cersei, and he doted on her, even in moods that Jaime found taxing. 

The King nodded and let out a sigh. “I’m worried. This will be a long winter, and if she’s…”

“Cersei is stronger than she looks,” Jaime shrugged. 

“But still… if she should worsen…”

He stared at the King and shook his head. “There isn’t a point to worrying over this. What can you do?” He laughed, rolling his green eyes. “Not even the King can change the weather, Rhaegar. And she’s been fine. A little chill isn’t anything to worry about for the winter.”

The King sighed, watching his sons roll around in the thick snows gleefully. The snow didn’t seem to bother the boys in bit, unlike their mother. And he did worry about her. She seemed to require sun and warmth to thrive, and though he knew that she hated to stay inside the Keep and to wrap herself in thick cloaks normally reserved for winters in the North, it was necessary. The last time she had joined him and Jaime in taking the children out in the snow her hands had turned an awful ashen grey after only minutes, and it had taken hours to warm her by the fire. 

He tried to take his mind off her though, and scooped up Aegon. “Let’s race your Uncle Jaime hmm? I bet we can beat him and your brother!” 

“What is this?” The golden-haired man scoffed, lifting Aerion high into the air to a delighted laugh. The tiny boy already adored his uncle, and there were no doubts he would grow up to be a warrior. As the second son should, according to Tywin. “That’s not true!” He tickled Aerion and then moved the boy to clutch the leather padding he wore beneath his golden armor. 

Rhaegar rolled his eyes, and took off, stumbling through the snow with Aegon clutched tight to his chest. Jaime was letting him win, for he knew that the Lannister was terribly fast, and rather agile even through the snow. But his lead didn’t last long, for Rhaegar tripped in the snow and fell into the mercifully soft layer of it onto his side. The flurries that went flying up didn’t seem to bother Aegon though, and he laughed merrily, making excited mewling and cheering noise. At just six months, they weren’t talking yet, but Aegon had mastered “mama” and “da” for Cersei and Rhaegar. Aerion was still babbling, and only his wet nurses pretended to understand him. 

“You alright there, your grace?” Jaime teased, holding Aerion in one large hand as he offered the other to the King.

He took it, pulling himself up and nodding. “I’m fine. But we should take the twins in before they get too cold. Cersei would have my head if they got sick."

Both men laughed, bundling the children into their cloaks and carried them into the keep. It seemed they had perfect timing as well, for Aegon started to whimper, his little hands fisting in Rhaegar’s doublet. "I think he's hungry," the king hummed, looking down at his son. "Shall we see if your mother is feeling well enough to feed you?"

It had been an ongoing struggle between Cersei’s desire to nurse her own children, the demands of two infants, and her sporadic illness. The twins had spent much more time with wet nurses than Daena had, and Rhaegar could tell it weighed heavy in Cersei’s heart. 

They walked up to the Queens chambers, but were directed to the library. At least that meant she was feeling well enough to move about. For the past week she’d been in bed with some sickness or another, and not the first in this winter. Though she did her best to push through the bouts for him and the children, he knew that she was ill almost constantly. Still, it afforded him the opportunity to keep her warm in the nights, and made it much easier to find his wife when he knew she would be inside the Keep and most likely near the fire at all hours of the day. She seemed if anything more willing towards him, though he was sure there were those around the keep that doubted the possibility of that. But, in an odd turn of events, it was Rhaegar who was refusing her now. He wasn’t going to take his rights, no matter how much his queen wanted him to, when she was sickly and exhausted. In truth, the King had spent as many nights attending to his wife as he had inside of her. 

“Cersei?” Rhaegar called, stepping into the vast library with a mewling Aegon in his arms. Aerion was on his way to full fledged bawling, and the King could see Jaime’s discomfort as he held the boy. 

They walked through the room to the back, where a chaise was drawn up the fire. Draped over it were several blankets, and under those, his Queen. She seemed asleep, and before Rhaegar could gently rouse her, Jaime stepped beside him and tapped her cheek lightly. “Wake up, sweet sister, your spawn are hungry.” He teased, causing the King to roll his eyes, and Cersei to startled in her sleep. 

“Rude,” she huffed, blinking her eyes as she woke, and finally fixing her gaze on the men. “Both?” She murmured, holding out her arms for the boys. Jaime moved first, placing Aerion in her arms, though he was careful with the boy, and his gaze lingered slightly too long. With a cough, he straightened. 

“I’ll leave you,” he murmured, turning away. If Rhaegar hadn’t been there, he may have stayed, even just for a glimpse of those breasts he missed, those that he had once considered his. As she had been his. His steps carried him quickly from her, and he waited at the door of the library like the good little guard dog he was now. Had he known that Cersei would be so happy with Rhaegar, would he have come to the capitol? Had he not seen it in that first meeting, how she adored the man? And now, with three royal children, what hope did he have of winning her?

Rhaegar watched the man go with an odd look. “Your brother has been… peculiar lately.” He murmured, rocking Aegon as Cersei loosened the bodice of her dress and guided Aerion to her breast. She hadn’t yet mastered nursing both twins, since it was rare she had the strength or time to. “Though Aerion seems to adore him no less.”

“It must be the cold,’ She murmured, not looking at him. Of course it wasn’t the cold, Jaime had always loved the winter. It was how cold she had been to him, and how she avoided him. But what was she to do? “And it’s good, that Aerion loves him. I would hope he could be a knight like Jaime someday, since Aegon will wear the crown.”

“Already planning their lives, and they are not yet a year,” Rhaegar laughed, sitting at the edge of the chaise. “Careful, Cersei. Perchance he’ll want to be a scholar hmm? Or a Maester.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at him. “You wait, husband, our son will be a great warrior. Aegon as well, of course, but I expect you and father will keep him busy with learning the ways of ruling.” 

Rhaegar chuckled and smiled over at her, “I guarantee it. Though I wouldn’t be so quick to disregard the second son, after all, if something were to happen, or Aegon does not want to rule, as second son Aerion would be expected to take the Iron Throne.”

“And what of the third son?” She hummed, a small smirk on her face. 

Rhaegar blinked. “Third son?”

Cersei stared at him a moment, still smirking, before she laughed. “Yes, third son. Your seed has flowered in my womb again, Rhaegar.” 

He paused for a moment and then grinned, the sort of goofy, crooked smile that she had first fallen for. He held Aegon in one hand and reached the other out to take Cersei’s. “Truly?” He breathed, “Again?”

“Yes,” she hummed, smirking again. “The Maesters said that my illness last week wasn’t from the cold, but from the child-like with the twins. We will have another son, Rhaegar…” He could see the pride in her eyes as she eased Aerion from her breast, handing the babe to his father and taking Aegon. He had his three heads, his heir, his legacy, and still she was giving him children happily. In truth, he knew that their family mattered to her just as much as all of that, and that though it wasn’t always clear, Lannisters prided their families and adored them. Cersei held her children close and protected them fiercely, even though she wielded no sword. He pitied any man foolish enough to threaten them.

"Another," he grinned, and leaned down to kiss her head. "Daena would be happy with a sister though, I think." He was just teasing her. She knew he would be happy with a son or a daughter, but it was the kingdom and lineage that often clouded his Queen's thoughts on the matter. With two sons though, what really was there for the third? Her father’s lands at Casterly Rock possibly, though there was still her brother- the younger- to consider. Besides, Rhaegar was not particularly interested in involving himself anymore than he had to in Lannister family matters. But a daughter... There was the potential for alliances with daughters. Emissaries from the kingdoms and even across the narrow sea had already been visiting them in the summer months about Daena, though she was not yet three at the time. 

Cersei, of course, abhorred the idea of treating their eldest child as a prized jewel to be owned by the most advantageously positioned lord. She had her fears for the fate of women, and she grasped the reality of it, a part of him knew that she would rather keep the girl in the capital than send her away. Would rather cater to Dornish custom on the matter and let her love and live a carefree life. 

But this wasn't Dorne. 

Still, the matter of daenas betrothal was one to be settled at another moment, and not such a joyous one as this. Rhaegar kissed Cersei again, and then rested a hand behind her head to guide her to him. He rested his lips on her brow and smiled. "Another. A fourth child... Gods Cersei... You've no idea how happy you've made me."

"I do, my love," she breathed, "I'm just as delighted..." 

When the twins had had their fill they carried them up to the nursery and then went to Cerseis rooms, the fire stoked high as they lay in front of it. The King wrapped an arm around the queens waist. She was slim, for now, but he was well practiced in tracing the curve of her stomach. Cersei rested her head on his arm, nestled against his chest. 

"We'll have a child in every of the kingdoms if we keep this up," he teased, caressing her side. 

She rolled her eyes. "We will not. I don't plan to have nine children, rhaegar. Let alone seven daughters."

He grinned. "Who knows? Nine isn't that many..." That got him a smack and he only laughed harder. 

"You're not the one who births them!"

"Hmh..." He shrugged, "but you love them."

Cersei smiled, kissing his neck with a soft sigh. "I do. But we don't need nine children, that would be ridiculous. And I honestly don't think I’d enjoy it. Four, certainly, maybe five." 

\---

She'd been in bed a week, shaking and barely conscious and unable to keep anything down. The sickness built slowly, but the fever raged fast, and didn't seem to have any desire to break. No one could fathom where the queen had gotten it, some theorised poison, treachery, others blamed the stale winter air in the capital, or her evident predisposition to illness. But that didn't help them heal her of it. 

"Maester Pycelle," the King sighed. Rhaegar hadn't slept for almost four days, he'd never left the Queens side except to tell the children what was going on. Thankfully they were too young to understand. "The child. What's- This can't be good for it."

"Probably not, no." The old man sighed, looking back at the bed where Cersei slept fitfully. "But she could make it through with the babe, Her Grace is a strong woman."

 

“Could make it through?” He frowned. The thought of her not making it, of losing either of them was beyond terrifying. Of course they already had three children, three healthy exuberant children. But after four moons they were rather attached to the fourth. But Cersei… he couldn’t replace her. He couldn’t even think of it. 

“She’s not sick enough yet for the fever to take her, your Grace.’ Pycelle assured him. “But the babe…”

The babe didn’t last the night. After another hour one of the handmaiden’s screamed, and Pycelle left the king. There was a pool of blood between Cersei’s thighs, soaking into the linens. The Queen herself wasn’t screaming, but the tears rolling down her cheeks twisted on Rhaegar’s heart. He walked to her side, reaching out for her hand, but she didn’t respond. 

“Cersei,” He breathed, but she shook her head. Ignoring her, the king moved to kiss her cheeks, resting a hand against her head and guiding her to him. "I'm so sorry," he breathed, "I'm so so sorry..." 

She let out a sob and rested her head on his shoulder, shaking her head. "Why?" She breathed, "why would the gods do this to us?"

"I do not know the will or reason of the gods," he whispered, "but you... You dont deserve this. We don't..." 

It seemed the gods didn't care what they deserved. Cersei started to fade next to him, and the Grand Maester paled at the blood, and ushered the king away. "She may... If this does not pass..." Pycell murmured, and the fear that settled in Rhaegars heart made him almost sick, though he held back. "Tend to your children, Your Grace." The Grand Maester advised, "tell your daughter what's happening, prepare them-"

"Prepare them for what?" He hissed, standing and glaring at the older man. "The loss of their mother? How do you prepare them for that!"

The Maester backed up, frowning. "You could at least tell them, My King. Tell them as much as you can so they know to pray for her." 

The king shook his head, resting a heavy hand on the maesters cheek. "If you let her die..." He shook his head, unable to finish the scentence. "Don't."

After that, Rhaegar didn't visit her. Jaime didn't visit her. The queen lived, she bled for another hour and then stopped, still crying softly but unwilling to speak. They asked her how she was feeling and she glared, they offered her food and she closed her eyes. After a week the Maester approached Rhaegar, who had taken to spending his days locked in his solar. 

"Your grace..." He murmured, "excuse me, but..." He wrung his hands in his robes. "The queen survived, as you know... But she will not survive the winter like this, not eating, locked in her sickbed, refusing to speak."

The king didn't look up. "What would you have me do with her? She lost a child, I lost a child Pycelle." 

“And you have done nothing but wallow in your sadness,” The Grand Maester frowned, stepping back from the King. “All of the Seven Kingdoms know of your loss, Your Grace. And,” He paused, seeming unsure of his words. “Doran Martell has offered an invitation to her Grace, should she wish to escape the cold, and the sorrow that has fallen over the Keep.”

Rhaegar paused, halfway through the order he was signing. He hadn’t slept, not since that night. He was forgoing food, unable to get her eyes, her blood, her tears, or his fear out of his head. Maester Luwin claimed it could have been worse, that they were very lucky not to lose the queen. Intended to cheer him, it only made the kings dreams darken and sleep evade him. But the thought of letting her leave him… “No.” He spoke with a firmness he didn’t come close to feeling. 

“Your Grace,” The old man sighed, “It would be good for her. The Winter is not kind to our Queen… And it has yet to hit Dorne, the sun is still warm in the Water Gardens, the Prince writes…” Reaching into his robes he drew out a letter, pressing it onto the King’s desk. “Think of her.” He pleaded quietly.

As the Maester left, Rhaegar looked up, resting his hand over the letter. Through her tears Cersei had pleaded for the Rock, for her home, things he could give though he silently refused. Sending her away would only make it worse. They fell apart when separated. And yet there was a heaviness in his heart, for the thing she had truly begged for was her mother, and he could never give her that. He heard it first when the flood was still seeping from her body, the child freshly ripped from her and her sobs not yet words. His queen had never asked for anything he could not give, but when he heard her begging, praying even, for her mother and for home, something in the king broke. 

“Seven Hells,” He breathed, standing up from the desk and taking the letter, skimming it as he walked to the balcony of his solar. The wind bit into his skin and whipped his hair over his eyes, carrying ice with it. Cersei was the light of the sun, and this winter was killing her. She’d been nothing but sick even with the child, struck twice as hard by illness with the tax of the babe. 

Doran wrote of warmth, of protection. Rhaegar didn’t think there had ever been an invitation like this, to send a royal to Dorne for no other reason than the Prince pitied her plight. And he knew Cersei wouldn’t last the winter if she refused to heal from this.

It was not an easy thing to send his beloved wife to the deserts of the south, letting her board a ship while their children stay with him in Kings Landing. They're but three and two, and don't yet know the pain that shrouds the castle.

\---

She didn’t understand. One minute she was peacefully lounging in bed, her thoughts adrift on the great sea of snow that had become her life as of late (silent, quaint, undisturbed) and the next her long forgotten handmaidens were sweeping into the rooms, throwing the blankets off her sore body and ushering her into a bath. 

“King’s orders, your Grace,” one of the girls explained, her voice hushed. All their voices were hushed, as if the Queen would startle at a moment’s notice, or a loud noise could send her into dust, like a wave on the sand. Ridiculous, and annoying, but Cersei had no words. 

Not even the words to ask why, or what the orders were, what feast or visit she was being readied for when she was still not strong enough to walk. The child had left her, but the sickness had not, and her head swam with fatigue as she was bathed, dressed, brushed and braided and laced into her corset and skirts. The girls wasted no time and no breath on speaking to her, and before she could wrap her head around all of it their soft hands and careful steps were replaced by the chill of armor and the clang of metal, Jaime’s strong arms lifting her and guiding her gods knew where. At least, she thought it was Jaime, but all she recognised was the armor and the white cloak. 

Truly, what most noticeably stuck in her mind was that none of these people were Rhaegar. 

He must hate me now, she thought, for losing the babe. Three heads were not enough, three children in two years would never be enough for any man, let alone the king. He could say all the pretty words and sing her all the songs he wanted, but words were empty and music ephemeral. His actions spoke for him. Not once in the week had she heard from him, or seen him. Not even the children.

And now she was being hidden away, sent away out of sight where he could forget about his broken bride, not yet five years his wife. Lioness or not, Cersei was no match for the Winter, and she barely had the strength left to be saddened by the turnabout. 

Leaning against the chest of metal of the man that held her, the Queen let them carry her, only sitting up when she was ushered to her feet, vision blurred by the sudden movement. Someone slipped one of the thick fur cloaks over her shoulders, the kind lined with soft beaver against her bare skin and thick bear fur on the outside. She recalled, fleetingly, that the northmen said no one would wear that cloak in the north, that even by their standards it was excessive. But it barred the cold from her skin and kept her as warm as the fire inside had.

Cersei found herself in a litter without so much as a word, the kingsguard that had been carrying her seated across from her. Though she could make out his armor, her energy did not extend to giving her a clear view of his face. “Jaime?” She assumed, but was only rewarded with a warm laugh.

“No, your grace. Ser Arthur Dayne, at your service.” The man spoke, and Cersei recalled his face, though she did not see it. 

About to reply, a cough took her, and she nearly jolted off the bench of the carriage they had lain her on, barely breathing with how the coughs wracked her. After a moment she found herself in Ser Arthur’s arms, his hands running over her back. “Breathe, your grace,” He murmured, “We’ll be in Dorne soon, the heat should heal what ails you.”

“Dorne?” She coughed, nearly choking on the word. 

Ser Arthur nodded, Cersei could feel it against her hair. “Yes. The King and Prince Doran agreed the sun would do you good.” 

Dorne. Out of sight, out of mind. He’s rid of me now. 

\---

Ser Arthur Dayne had promised to keep the Queen alive on the trip. Since the woman seemed to be a wisp of a thing now, barely able to walk on her own, he knew it would be no easy task, but they had forgotten to mention the seasickness. In Winter the swells rose higher, and he thought he would lose her then and there. The ship was damp and dank despite the Lannister gold that bought it, and that only aided the Queen’s illness. He did what he could, but knights were not Maesters, and he was easily twice as relieved as she was when they neared land. 

“My Queen,” He murmured, before resting a hand on the woman’s bony shoulder. She couldn’t keep a scrap of food down now, and was wasting away. All he received in reply was an exhausted groan, so he scooped her and her cloak up once more. The thing weighed more than she, he was sure, and it was no wonder she rarely stood when it was placed over her shoulders.

Despite his delight at being back in Dorne, finally, a fear gripped his heart for the woman in his arms. Rhaegar should never have sent her away so early, not when she was struck so hard by illness. But the man was not the same that had taken the throne years prior, nor the same that had wed the proud daughter of House Lannister in the Sept. Nor was she the same. 

They were taken to the Palace, and from there she was taken from him. 

“Ser Arthur?” He turned to face the younger Prince of Dorne, bowing slightly. 

“Prince Oberyn, how may I help you?”

The man smirked at him and led him down the breezeway. "I simply wish to know how our Queen is faring. You travelled with her, did you not?" He paused, both men standing, backs lit by the warm sun. Even Arthur had to admit that this weather would be good for anyone, but particularly Cersei. 

"She's ill," he shrugged. "She’s been ill for almost the whole winter, but it was much, much worse with the babe. We were all surprised she made it, really. But you can’t say that, because of Ser Jaime.”

Oberyn hummed in thought. “If her illness is so terrible, why would the King send her away?”

Ser Arthur frowned. “The Prince sent for her. Why would she have not come?”

“On their last visit the King seemed very attached to his lovely wife, is all…” He began to walk away, and Ser Arthur chose not to follow. It was an odd thing, what had happened with the King and Queen. He’d seen her refuse her husband through the open doors as the babe left her, but in the following days he’d seen her ask for Rhaegar and only Jaime visit her. And even he stopped. 

On his way up to the sunrooms, where they were placing the Queen, he dragged his feet. Visiting Cersei was no easy task, though after so long spent with her on the ship and the journey he was at least less of an affront to her. No one but the King and her own family regularly wanted to see her when she was sick, but he pitied the woman. His had been the only kind face she'd seen in weeks, even before they left. 

"...You should come visit us, your grace," he heard a girls voice, and when he walked through the archway saw all of Oberyn’s bastards surrounding the queen. She barely looked awake, but had not sent them away. 

Stepping into the room further, he knocked on the door. "I think it would perhaps be better if you girls left her grace until she feels a bit better." 

The girls seemed to startle at his voice, but the queen merely sighed. "They're fine, ser Arthur," she drawled. "I will admit being visited is a welcome change." The look she gave him made him stop, lowering his gaze in a respectful nod. It would do her good, this place. The heat, children who adored her and comfortable days lounging by the water gardens. He could hardly fathom she'd want to leave. 

"As you wish, your grace." He hummed. The girls grinned, the littler ones re-joining her on the bed. In Kings Landing it was easy to forget that the queen was but a woman of 21 years, but here with the girls she seemed younger, lighter. 

Upon his leave he wrote a letter to the King , informing him that they'd arrived, and that Cersei already seemed improved. 

\--

Storms End was being battered by the worst storm in fifty years when Lyanna brought her third child into the world. Lyanna labored twelve hours to birth the babe, another son just to be dragged about by his father. If it was a boy like the last two Robert would expect it to be just like him.

"My Lady," came the Maesters voice, "you have a girl."

Lyanna opened her eyes, allowing herself to feel happy. She held out her arms to take the babe. Unlike her two older brothers the little girl wasn't wailing anymore. Instead she merely stared at Lyanna with big blue eyes.

"Would you like me to send for Lord Baratheon so you can name the child?" Asked the Maester.

Lyanna shook her head, "No, tell him her name is Meera." She would not let Robert claim this child, she would have this babe, this girl, all to herself. 

\--

Robert paid no attention to his daughter. He barely acknowledged her except for the first night after her birth. He raged for hours about Lyanna giving her daughter a northern name, reminding her that his child was a Baratheon.

Lyanna cowered in the corner, trying not to cry, it only got worse if she cried.

She took to hiding herself in the nursery everyday, partly to escape Robert, and partly to protect Meera. 

Within a week of his sister’s birth Joffery hated his sister. He pushed her about and called her slow and stupid, Gendry did his best to stand up for his little sister but he was a year younger than his brother. Both were large boys, but Joffery was larger.

Lyanna had grown to hate Storms End and everything about it. She couldn't stand the constant rains battering the walls and the way the wind howled outside the walls. To her it was never warm. Not like Winterfell, where even on the harshest winter nights the laughter and joy of children carried through the halls and the family ate by a roaring fire. 

At night she dreamed of Winterfell, of her childhood, of days past. She wanted to ride through the snow with a crown of blue winter roses atop her head. She wanted to spar against Benjen in the Godswood. She wanted to pray in front of the heart tree with Ned. She wanted the freedom that her father had given her, and the joy that each of her brothers had brought her in turn. But all that was gone and she would never get it back.

A month after Meera's birth Robert finally asked to meet the child. Lyanna carried her up the swirling steps of the central tower to her husbands solar. He was sitting before the fire, drinking. 

"Bring her here," Robert said without any feeling. 

Lyanna walked over to Robert, passing over the delicate bundle that was her daughter. Robert took the girl awkwardly in his arms. He squinted at her, as if trying to find something to prove she wasn't his.

After what felt and eternity he finally spoke, "She's pretty enough I guess."

Lyanna nodded, not wanting to speak.

"We had better get on finding her a husband." Said Robert, at that Lyanna found her voice.

"Rhaegar wrote me of a good match for her in Pentos. I had him arrange it for Meera."

Robert glared at his wife, "You’re marrying her off to some foreign scum?"

Lyanna glared at her husband, she had asked for the match because she wanted her daughter as far from Storms End and Joffery’s cruelty as possible, but she couldn't tell her husband that.

"Rhaegar wants us to have good relations with the free cities. He thought that if their most wealthy were tied to us then trade would be easier."

Robert shrugged, "Well it saves me the trouble of finding her a bride."

Then he handed the babe back and dismissed his wife.

\-- 

Robert went back to ignoring his daughter after that, but he didn’t ignore his wife. He grew increasingly angry at her for not giving him a third son, insisting that a Baratheon would never have less than three sons. 

Every day he stomped off to his whores and Lyanna hated him. She wrote Cersei constantly of her life, telling her of her husband, but she never let herself cry. She told herself she would be strong, she told herself she could hold it in. 

That was until he hit her. 

She had gone out for a ride without his permission. He had told her that she must stay in during the winter to avoid getting hurt but Lyanna couldn’t take the cramped walls of the castle. She was a Northern wolf and a little rain and wind was not enough to scare her. 

When she returned from a ride drenched and breathless with joy Robert was waiting for her in her chambers. 

He raged at her for almost half an hour telling her that she was endangering herself, and if she was so reckless maybe she shouldn’t spend time with the children. Lyanna stood there and took it, then he said something she would never forgive.

“I will not have you damaging the Baratheon name so!!!” He roared. At that Lyanna couldn’t control herself, she laughed. 

“You have already hurt the Baratheon name beyond repair with all your drinking and whoring!” She would not let him tell her that she was the un-honorable one, she was a Stark of Winterfell.

Robert struck her then. His hand connected firmly with her cheek and sent her to the floor. Lyanna didn’t let herself cry out, she bit her cheek and she held back her tears.

Rising to her feet she glared at her husband and spat, “I shall remember this, the North never forgets.” 

Then she left the room while behind her Robert told her he was sorry and that he loved her, but Lyanna knew better, and she knew that she would hate her husband forever for this.

She found her way to the nursery where Gendry and Meera were playing. Unable to control herself any longer Lyanna collapsed on the floor and cried. Meera and Gendry crawled over to her wrapping their little arms around her, and Lyanna vowed that her husband would never hurt her children, and they would never be under his control. 

\--

He hit her again a week later. He came into her rooms that night stinking of wine and some whores perfume. Lyanna was sleeping in her chambers dreaming of Winterfell when the door banged open startling her from her sleep.

Her first thought was that the castle was under attack and she must protect her children. She was about to rise from the bed when a drunken voice spoke.

“Lyanna,” he murmured. 

Lyanna’s whole body tensed, Robert was back in her chambers most likely after another child. He claimed to love her yet nothing he had ever done showed this. He prefered his whores who would do exactly what he wanted.

Robert climbed on top of her smelling of strong wine, he tried to kiss her bit Lyanna forced his face away with her hand.

"Robert, no." She pleaded.

"Lyanna," he murmured trying once more to kiss her. 

Lyanna rolled away from him, standing quickly when she reached the edge of the bed, "Not tonight, you're drunk." She said backing towards the door. 

Robert growled from the bed, "Get back here, woman."

Lyanna shook her head. Finding the door she pushes it open and went sprinting down the hall. Her feet took her to the nursery. She barred the door and curled up on the floor, her body shaking with sobs. She lay there until the aim rose through the window and at last her tears dried.


	7. We Have the Fire Now

As winter neared its end Rhaegar had all but had it with Kings Landing. Without Cersei to sit with him through council meetings he had nothing to do. All the Lords he handled so well normally had him constantly on edge and he knew that he was close to an explosion. 

After some deliberation Rhaegar decided to take his children and flee to Dragonstone for a week.

Having persuaded Tywin to watch the capital and run things for the week, Rhaegar loaded the children into a boat and set out for Dragonstone. 

Rhaegar spent the journey inside of his cabin, attempting to avoid being sick. His children, however, were a different story. Aegon and Aerion spent the entire voyage running around pushing and playing and making all the crewmembers lives hell. Daena was more subdued but spent almost every waking moment on the prow of the ship watching the water and leaning over the edge in search of dolphins. Needless to say, Rhaegar was glad when they reached the ancient Targaryen seat because he would at least be able to control his children.

All four Targaryens benefited from the time away from the capital. Aerion and Aegon spent their time climbing over the islands rocks and up the sides of the great dragons. For the first day Daena pretended she didn't want to join them, but by the second she was leading them in their climbing.

That night Rhaegar showed them the dragon’s eggs. They had been a gift from some wealthy merchant in Pentos or Qarth at the feast celebrating the birth of Aegon and Aerion. He had given them to the twins and Rhaegar had chosen to take them to Dragonstone, since it was the seat of the Targaryens. The dragon eggs were beautiful. They were black, green, and white all with intricate designs along the outside. The children spent a good hour marveling at them and holding them. That night all they could do was talk about how they wished they could ride on dragons like the three conquerors had done generations ago. 

\---

That night Aerion couldn't sleep; he kept rolling back and forth thinking about the eggs. A little before midnight he had an idea. "Aegon!" He hissed. "Aegon, get up!" 

His brother’s response was to roll away in protest. Aerion climbed on top of him forcing his eyes open.

"Aegon, I have a really good idea so wake up now!" He hissed.

"Fine!" Said his brother as he pushed him off and sat up. "What are we doing?" He asked.

"It's a surprise, come on!" Snapped his brother, dragging him down the hall. 

When they reached Daena's room Aerion left his brother in the hall and slipped in to wake his sister. A few minutes later the two emerged, Daena still looking half asleep and glaring at her brother. 

Still neither sibling protested as Aerion led them through the castle to the Sept. Inside they found the eggs where they had been before arranged before the Father, Warrior, and Maiden. 

"Aerion what are we doing?" Snapped Daena.

"Just take one!" Said Aerion stepping forward to the Warrior and taking the green egg sitting there. Daena walked to the Maiden taking the white egg there and Aegon claimed the black egg from the feet of the Father.

After that they followed Aerion down to the beach where that day the battered and broken hull of a great fishing vessel had washed ashore. The name printed on the side was King Valyria.

"We have to light it on fire!" Said Aerion.

"Are you crazy?" Was his sister’s immediate response. 

"He's right," said Aegon who had finally caught on, "We are the blood of old Valyria and the three heads of the dragon. It is our job to birth the dragons as the Targaryens of old did."

Daena nodded after a moment, finally understanding. Then she proceeded to help the boys light the wreck afire.

Aerion had brought along flints, so it only took them ten or so minutes to have the old ship roaring in flames.

Aegon took a deep breath and walked forward, his siblings falling in instinctively on either side. None of them feared the flames as they entered them holding their dragon eggs, instead the embraced the fire and walked straight to the hottest part of the flames.

\---

Rhaegar was woke by shouting, the minute he opened his eyes he knew something was wrong. Sitting up in bed, he dashed to the window and looked outside. The old ship that had washed ashore was on fire, it's flames the pale blue that accompanied driftwood.

Rhaegar hurried from the room down to the beach and watched in awe as the flames spiraled higher and higher. It was a truly majestic sight, until the Septon came running.

"Your Grace, Your Grace!" He called.

Rhaegar turned to look at him and saw his eyes wide with fear, "What?"

"Your Grace... The children... They aren't in their rooms... And the dragon eggs... They’re gone!"

"What!" Rhaegar screamed. He glanced frantically toward the flames. He shouldn't have made this trip so public; someone had captured his children, killed them, and thrown their bodies into the flames. They must have stolen the dragon’s eggs as payment for their deeds.

Rhaegar collapsed on the rocky beach, his tears began to flow down his cheeks, and he was unable to control himself. Around him he could hear the people murmuring, both at him and at the flames but he didn’t care. His children were gone. His children were dead. Cersei was going to kill him.

One strange thing was that nobody could get close enough to the blaze to put it out. It seemed to have a will of its own, shooting long tendrils of flame up into the sky and sending great bursts to everyone who tried to get close to it before dawn, at which point the fire had burned low and as the sun rose over the gathered group and audible gasp could be heard. 

Rhaegar looked up and felt his heart drop. His children were standing in the middle of the charred ship. All three were completely naked in the morning light. Not only that but all their hair had been burned completely away, leaving their scalps bare and shiny, however, other than that they were unharmed.

None of this was what was drawing the reaction from the assembled crowd. Instead it was the other thing appearing in the smoke with the children. 

Daena held a pale white dragon in her arms as if it were her child. She cradled it with more affection than most mothers gave their children. Aerion’s had wrapped itself around his upper arm, its green scales contrasting against his pale skin. Aegon, however, was the most terrifying. His dragon was perched on his shoulders with its wings spread wide, the light coming through its dark wings. 

Rhaegar rose to his feet as around him everyone at once began to yell.

“The Dragons! The Dragons have returned!” They yelled, their voices swelling over the rocks. 

Rhaegar couldn't help but smile. His children truly were the blood of the dragon, and they had brought their magic back into the world.

\---

The sun was shining off the snow in the gardens of the Red Keep as Aerion ran down the cliff path. The long, winding, tree lined trail went all the way from the gardens of the capital to a little rocky outcropping at the edge of the bay. It was here that the children had chosen to train their dragons since the rocks would not be as flammable to the dragon fire as the plants.

When Aerion reached the base of the steps he was almost scorched in the face by flame.

“Daena!” exclaimed Rhaegar. One of the most important rules was making sure the fire had no chance of hurting anyone.

“Sorry!” Daena squeaked, “But it’s not my fault he didn’t announce himself.”

Rhaegar agreed and began to lecture them once again about safety. For the past month it had been all he was able to talk about. He had allowed the children to bring their dragons to the keep, but he wouldn’t let them in the gardens and insisted they were trained for at least two hours a day.

So far nobody really minded. Dany had told them the Valyrian word for fire, Dracarys. Since then they had been teaching the dragons to only breath fire when commanded.

Daena had named hers Dreamfyre, after Rhaena Targaryen’s dragon. With it smooth white scales and gold swirls across its wings it was both strong and fierce at the same time as being delicate and feminine. Aerion’s green and bronze dragon was named Rhaegal after his father and many other Targaryen’s. So far he proved to be the most likely to fly, constantly testing out his wings. Aegon had named his Balerion after the first Aegon’s dragon. His was as black as the original and there were several who said it was Balerion come again. 

As Aerion made his way back to his dragon Daena succeeded once again in being able to shoot flames at the water, Dany applauded her. 

When Aerion reached Rhaegal, the green dragon flapped a few feet of the ground, until he reached just above his father's knee. Dany had also taken to calling the three siblings the parents of their dragons and it was a trend that all three had adopted. 

Aerion sat at the edge of the rocks and watched as Daena and Aegon had a contest to see which dragon could shoot fire further. He on the other hand was focusing on flight. Rhaegal was able to fly at least a foot above the others, which was useful when it came to their little play flights. As they grew the three became even more combative, though they all agreed that it was playful fighting and nothing too serious.

For the next hour they continued to watch the dragons until a very frightened page appeared.

“Your Grace,” he said his timid eyes never leaving the dragons.

“Yes?” asked Rhaegar. He was always rather amused by the way the castle servants feared his children’s pets.

“My lord, the sails of Her Grace’s ships were just spotted, Queen Cersei will be docking in a hour.”

All four children leapt to their feet clapping in excitement. The dragons opened their mouths and let out a few scratchy notes of dragon song. The page flinched at the noise but the children cheered it, they loved the dragon song. 

Rhaegar smiled and dismissed the page, turning back to his sister and children.

"You had all best go get cleaned up," He told them. "I doubt Cersei will take well to seeing you all covered in dirt." The children nodded earnestly, Rhaegar decided it was best if Cersei didn't encounter her children for the first time since her return in public so he sent told them to wait for them in Meagors.

The children nodded, then went shooting up off the path. Rhaegar shook his head and followed them. He headed straight for the stables where his horse was saddled and waiting. Someone had known he would want to meet his wife at the waterfront.

He mounted and placed his crown on his head before he rose out through the gates of the Red Keep and started heading toward the docks.

\---

Cersei had always hated the sea, but the voyage from Dorne had been particularly bad. They had been battered by constant heavy winds and Cersei had spent most of the time sick in her cabin. Not only that, but without Rhaegar or her children she had had virtually no comfort. Ser Arthur did his best, but he wasn't family, even if he'd scarcely left her side on the journey. 

When the boat docked in Kings Landing it took all her self-control not to sprint from the ship onto dry land.

A crowd had gathered on the dock and many were holding flowers and cheering. When Cersei appeared on the deck they went wild, screaming and throwing flowers at her. The Queen smiled and waved as she made her way down the gangplank, but by the time she had reached the bottom her eyes had found Rhaegar and all she could see was him. 

As quickly as she could while remaining dignified she went to him. He embraced her, pulling her flush to his chest as she leaned into him, breathing in his scent and feeling his muscles beneath his jerkin. It was a warmth she had missed even in the heat of the desert, a balm for the ache that had settled in once she realized her wrongs, how much she missed her husband. But all too soon he was pulling away and helping her on to her horse.

The ride through the city was filled with cheering people throwing flowers. Cersei waved and threw flowers that were tossed her way back into the crowed. It appeared the people had missed their Queen.

Once they reached the keep Rhaegar lead her to her own chambers, explaining that the children were already there. 

Cersei stepped through the door and smiled at the sight of her children. Then she screamed.

She clutched at Rhaegar, staring at her children, more importantly at the top of their heads.

"Where is their hair?" She screamed. Rhaegar glanced and the ground, "Where is their hair?" She demanded. 

It was Aerion who answered, "We burned it off mother."

"WHAT?" Cersei shrieked.

"Well it burned off when we walked into the fire." He explained.

Cersei rounded on her husband, "You let them walk into a fire?"

"Not exactly..." Said Rhaegar trying to think of the best way to explain. Sadly Aerion did it for him.

"Daddy didn't let us mother, we went into the fire on our own the birth out dragons!" And with that he held up Rhaegal.

The moment Cersei saw the dragon she lost it. "Seven Hells! Get that thing away from me!" She yelled as she jumped up onto the nearest chair and climbed onto a table.

"Cersei!" Rhaegar yelled, "Calm down! Calm down!"

Cersei was on the table trembling, "No lizards, I cannot stand lizards! A dragon is worse- it's a lizard with a pair of wings... So GET THOSE THINGS AWAY FROM ME!"

Rhaegar gently pulled his wife down off the table, “Don’t worry they're harmless, the kids only shoot fire at the water.”

At this Cersei nearly slapped him instead she merely hissed, “If those things are going to stay here then I am heading back to Dorne and staying there permanently.”

She turned and stormed from the room leaving Rhaegar alone with three very confused children.

\--

Aegon was hiding in the garden. It had been a month since the dragons were sent to Dragonstone to be kept safe and Cersei had forbidden her children to go out to the island no more than once every two months. 

Aegon had taken to hiding in the garden, the snow of winter was melting and he liked watching the garden come back to life every day. Today he had climbed a tree in order to be alone with his thoughts, but there was one person he couldn’t hide from, his brother.

Aerion was in the process of climbing up the tree. He wasn’t nearly as experienced as his brother so it was taking him awhile, eventually when he was about ten feet below his brother he gave up and turned his head up to stare at his brother.

“You thinking about Balerion?”

“Ya.”

“You miss him?”

“Duh.”

“Wanna get revenge?”

Aegon looked down, “What sort?”

“Well mother is spending the whole day at the Sept with most of her handmaids.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, “So what?”

“We can sheep shift mother!”

“Aerion!”

“She took our dragons!” Aerion glared up at his older brother, “Come on, you know you want to...”

Aegon waited a few seconds before nodding and climbing down out of the tree with his brother.

Sadly there were no sheep in the Red Keep so the brothers made their way to the stable. There they put horse dung into bags and snuck off to Meagors.

Their father almost caught them, as did Dany and Daena. But the twins were able to dive down side halls at the last minute in order to avoid them. 

By the time they reached their mothers room both were exhausted from all the sneaking, but they proceeded to strip the bed and cut it open. As the stitched it up Aegon’s cruel stitches had Aerion rolling on the floor with laughter. They finished much later than planned.

Just as Aerion and Aegon were preparing to leave they heard voices in the hall. The brothers dove behind a pair of curtains and crouched in hiding as the door opened.

\--

Rhaegar followed Cersei into her chambers shaking his head. His wife had come back from Dorne with a headful of ideas, most of which he agreed with, but one he was against.

“I don’t understand why it would be such a bad thing.” Said Cersei firmly taking a seat at her table. “The Dornish are important to us and the girl is rather sweet.”

“The girl is two.” Rhaegar pointed out. 

Cersei waved her hand, “Details. We need wives for the boys. We agreed neither of them could marry Daena, that’s too dangerous. Plus with Daena securing the North for us with her marriage to Robb Stark, I think it’s important that we secure the south.”

“Cersei just to be clear, you are talking about marrying one of our sons to a two year old baby.”

Cersei rolled her eyes, “Obviously they wouldn’t get married right away.”

Rhaegar sat down opposite his wife. “I thought Arianne’s husband was of low birth.”

“That beside the point!” said Cersei.

Rhaegar shook his head, “Not really, we can't have Aegon marry someone whose fathers name is Sand.”

Cersei shrugged, “Then she can marry Aerion.”

Rhaegar could see that his wife was not about to back down from this issue. Her time in Dorne had made her, if possible, even more stubborn and he had to admit that it was a good idea to tie the Martells back to the Iron Throne. They were basically still an independent kingdom and even with dragons, the Targaryens could not guarantee their loyalty. 

“What did you say the girls name was?” He asked.

“Tyene Martell.” Cersei told him.

“Isn’t that a Sand Snake?” asked Rhaegar in shock. 

"No," said Cersei, " She's just named after one."

Rhaegar rolled his eyes, "I doubt that makes a difference."

Cersei glared at her husband, "It does. We need the Martells, admit it."

"Fine! I admit it!" Rhaegar glared at his wife. "So what happens if we marry Aerion to her? What does he get?"

Cersei rolled her eyes, "Dorne!"

"Oh right, equal inheritance laws."

Cersei nodded, "It's the perfect situation. Not only that but there will be enough new families mixed in that their children can marry each other."

Rhaegar sighed in defeat, "Alright, I'll send a letter to Doran Martell proposing the match between Aerion and Tyene Martell."

With that Rhaegar stood and left the room. 

Cersei rose to her feet and walked to the door, dropping the bolt across it. She then turned and walked over to her bed. She sat down rubbing her upper arms nervously. Something wafted into her nose. She paused and sniffed again. 

Aerion and Aegon watched as she stood up and quickly unmade her mattress, flipping it over to find the crude stitching on the inside.

“How original.” said Cersei accompanied with an eye roll.

Aerion couldn’t help it, he giggled.

Cersei’s head snapped up turning to examine the room. Her eyes settled on the curtains and strode swiftly over pushing them aside. Aegon and Aerion looked up at her, looking both amused and scared.

Cersei grabbed them both by the back of their shirts and proceeded to drag them out of the room and down the hall. Along the way she stopped and handmaid and told her that the mattress in her room was in need of changing. 

Then she dragged them towards their fathers solar.

\--

Rhaegar was meeting with Tywin about ways to appease the other Lords now that they had betrothed another royal and all the remaining families would be competing for the remaining prince. In past Targaryens had wed Hightowers, Arryns, Baratheons, and Martells. His marriage to Cersei was a first for the Targaryens and he knew that it had given the other Lords hope that they could sink their teeth into a royal.

They were trying to figure out if anyone needed positions on the council or if merely money or trade deals would suffice. Dany was already betrothed to Quentyn Martell so they could serve as envoys across the Narrow Sea, so there was no chance of betrothing her.

Tywin was suggesting something to pacify Mace Tyrell when the doors flew open and Cersei marched in. She was dragging Aegon and Aerion along behind her and had a murderous look in her eyes.  
“Cersei what are you doing here?” asked Tywin in a voice that suggested he was not happy about the appearance of his daughter.

Cersei glared at her father, “Father, if you will excuse us, Rhaegar and I need to talk to our children.”

Tywin glared at his daughter for a minute before bowing to the king and stiffly exiting the room.

Rhaegar turned to his wife, his eyebrow raised in amusement, “What have they done this time?”

They were all used to the boys constant pranking and most of the time it was harmless. But Rhaegar knew Cersei wouldn’t have come to him if it weren’t something serious.

“They crossed the line,” snapped Cersei as she pushed her children into a pair of chairs at the desk. 

“What did they do?” The King sighed, seeing that his wife was glaring at the boys. Their hair was still short, only an inch or so long, and they looked rather amusing.

Cersei was fuming, “They sheep shifted my bed.” She hissed.

Rhaegar couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. Cersei glared at him and he saw his sons glance at each other in wonder. 

“What?” Rhaegar asked innocently.

“Why are you laughing?” Cersei asked her voice rising swiftly.

“Because I told you this would happen!” Said Rhaegar, keeling over in laughter.

She glared at her husband as he finished up laughing. He finally stopped and turned to look at his sons.

“Why’d you do it?” He asked.

“We were mad at mother.” Said Aerion firmly.

“Why?” asked Rhaegar.

“She took our dragons away,” said Aegon quietly.

Rhaegar gave Cersei a pointed look, “But you get to see them every two months.”

“That’s not enough time to train them,” murmured Aegon.

Rhaegar turned his glare to Cersei, who at least had the good sense to look awkward. 

Rhaegar crouched down to look at his sons, “I think you should go out every two weeks, and you can say for a whole week.” 

Cersei gasped and Rhaegar winked at his sons before he stood up and shooed them out of the room as Cersei continued to glare. 

He turned and looked at her, “Don’t give me that look.” He said walking over to her, wrapping his arms around her. “Their Targaryen’s, they need their dragons. I know you’re scared of them, but they need the dragons.”

Cersei rolled her eyes, as much as she hated to admit it, she knew the dragons were part of her children, even if they terrified her.

“They’ll hurt them.” She whispered, looking at Rhaegar, praying that he would understand her fear.

The King merely shook his head, “They know who birthed them. The dragons will be loyal to their parents, they would never dare to hurt them.”

Cersei did not believe him for one minute. She pushed him away angrily and stormed out of the room. Rhaegar was refusing to see sense and Cersei was done talking to him until he would.

\--

Rhaegar watched the sea from the window of his solar. For the past few weeks since he had changed Cersei’s regulations on the children and their dragons she had refused to speak to him. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised at this; she had done things like this before. This time however the reason behind her silence irked him.

As much as his wife hated to admit it, their children were Targaryen. They were in the direct line of inheritance, unlike the Baratheons who only came into play if all the known Targaryens died. To Rhaegar it was important that his children grow up to really and truly be Targaryen. Sometimes he felt Cersei didn’t understand that.

He needed to talk to her, and the sooner the better. Sighing he rose to his feet and made his way to Cersei’s chambers.

When he was admitted into the Queens chambers he found Cersei sitting in front of the fire wrapped in pale grey robe. She didn't turn her head to look at him, preferring to watch the fire. 

Rhaegar sat down in the seat opposite Cersei.

"Cersei we need to talk," He murmured quietly.

Cersei raised her eyes to look at her husband, “What is it, Your Grace?”

Rhaegar sighed, “I know that you are scared of the dragons,” Cersei snorted, “But the children need to be near them.”

“They’ll hurt them Rhaegar!” Cersei whispered, her eyes full of fear. 

Sighing, he shook his head, “They won’t, Cersei. The dragons understand better than anyone the importance of family. Our children birthed them, they are the fathers and mother of dragons, and the dragons will never harm them.”

Cersei broke down into tears, “Rhaegar, I’m so scared.” He knew it took her far more than most women to admit that. His lioness was not one for fear, and yet here she was, trembling at the return of his family’s legacy. Although he wasn’t offended, fear was outside of her control.

Rhaegar knelt next to his wife and Cersei fell onto his shoulder sobbing. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, his hands sliding through her hair soothingly, the same way they often did with Daena when she wasn’t allowed to do the same thing as he brothers. “I promise you, you don’t need to be afraid,” he whispered, “nothing will hurt them, dragons or not, and nothing will hurt you. Do you not trust me?”

She looked up at him, eyes rimmed red and watery. “Of course I do. But… They’re merely children, Rhaegar!”

“Targaryen Children,” The king reminded her quietly, watching her. The words could offend her, though she often seemed proud of his lineage, he knew she was just as proud to be a Lannister of Rock. To his eyes, Cersei seemed to take the news mildly, her expression tightening only minutely. 

Though from that he could not have expected her words. “That didn’t protect our last child, Rhaegar,” she muttered. Her eyes closed and she wrapped herself tighter around him. They never talked about their loss, they carried on as King and Queen and parents to their three healthy children. She hadn’t said a word of it since returning from Dorne, but that didn’t mean he had stopped thinking of it. The memory made his insomnias worse, his dreams harsher. 

Of course being Targaryen didn’t protect their children from everything. But… “The dragons won’t hurt them. They’re blood of the Dragon.” He stated firmly, though he knew she was no longer in the mood to argue. Rhaegar sat there holding her for hours, letting her cry out her fears until she eventually fell asleep in his arms. 

\--

Jamie hated when he guarded Cersei. He had to follow her around while she wandered from place to place chatting with all the annoying ladies of the keep. He only enjoyed it when she played with the children. Then he got to imagine that they were a family, that Daena was his daughter, Aerion and Aegon his sons. It didn’t help that Aerion idolized his uncle, always trying to make him fight. Jamie was glad that Ser Arthur Dayne had taken over minding the younger prince. Dayne was by far a better warrior than Jamie and it lessened the hurt of having to watch the children that he so badly wished were his. 

Today Cersei was not meeting with different Ladies; instead she was sitting on her balcony watching the sea for the sail of her children’s ship. Jamie leaned against the railing watching her.

“As your brother I feel it is my duty to warn you, you worry too much.” Jamie joked.

Cersei glared at her brother, “What if the got attacked or a storm took them? They could be dead, that is no laughing matter!”

Jamie turned to look at his sister smirking, “It’s a short journey from Dragonstone to here, don’t worry. They’ll be fine.”

Cersei looked unconvinced, continuing to watch the water.

“Do you ever wish things had been different?” Jamie asked.

“What?” Cersei’s head snapped up, “What do you mean?”

Jamie shrugged, “Do you ever wish they weren’t his?” 

Cersei stared at her brother, “Whose else would they be?”

“Robert Baratheon!” He teased, “No, mine Cersei, mine.”

Cersei looked away, trying to avoid this conversation, “Jamie don’t.” she whispered.

“We could have done it,” said Jamie, ignoring her, “Run away to Norvos or the Southern isles. We could have married and been happy.” He knelt in front of Cersei, taking her head in his hands and forcing her to look at him, “Why didn’t we?”

Cersei trembled, looking anywhere but at her brother, “We couldn’t Jamie, it was a fool’s dream, nothing more.”

Jamie shook his head firmly, “Cersei I loved you, I still love you, and I will always love you!” Cersei was blinking back tears, “We could still do it. We could flee this place and be together, be in love again.” He was pleading. He needed her to still love him; he couldn’t believe his twin, his other half, would love another.

Cersei shook her head, “Jamie we can’t. We never could.” She rose to her feet, Jamie let her go feeling his heart ripped in two, when Cersei reached the door she turned to look at her brother, “I love Rhaegar, I’m sorry Jamie, it was a fools dream, nothing more.”

With that she turned and left him alone on the balcony, wishing the sea would rise up and drown him so he wouldn’t have to watch her love another for one more minute.


	8. Don’t Let Me Show Ugliness

Three was enough. After Cersei returned from Dorne, they decided they could be happy with three. “Even your father couldn’t complain,” Rhaegar assured her, but Cersei couldn’t help but feel a sinking in her stomach with each cup of moon tea she forced herself to drink. The drink was bitter enough without her hatred. 

Her own children were more interested in the dragons than in their mother, and though the princess, eerily perceptive as she was, saw it her duty to take Deana’s place at the Queen’s side, it wasn’t what she wanted. When the news reached them that Ned Stark had gotten a fourth child on his fishwife, Cersei had gone white faced and only managed to contain her emotions to the door of her own bedchamber. Jaime had to carry her to bed. 

“I just…” The Queen couldn’t quite find the words, her tongue thick and heavy with anguish. “Oh I want more, Jaime. I want another babe… one that…” One that was hers, that didn’t place beasts over the love she had to give, that listened to her. 

“I could give you another babe, Cersei.” He reminded her, his lips falling to her neck as if there weren’t two long winters between them and the last time she’d had him inside her. She should have known he would see her anguish as desire, somehow. Her brother still loved her, that much she knew, and she’d been so rude, pushing him away…

Her hands pushed against his chest. “Jaime, Jaime…” he pulled back, and it had to be the grief, the desperation, all that sadness she’d locked away inside, that Rhaegar wouldn’t listen to, that she couldn’t stand to hear pity for, that made her kiss him then. His lips were different than Rhaegar’s, but familiar. Kissing Jaime had always been like kissing her mirror image, and her hands curled into his hair as they would her own, gold spilling between her fingers. He mirrored her, tilting her head back to welcome his lips, guiding her onto the bed, easing the red and black of her gown off her. Shedding her new colors. 

It didn’t feel like coming home, with him inside of her again. But did she truly expect it to feel the same? She wasn’t a blushing girl anymore, or he an eager boy. Her moans were not as wanton, his fingers out of practice and his thrusts all to eager. Still, it was Jaime, resplendent above her and below her, around her. Cersei felt her head spin. It had to be the wrongness of it all making her heady, causing her body to buzz and buck up into his, to ride him with such abandon. 

The tapestry mocked her when she came apart, sobbing into her brother’s shoulder. 

She nearly threw him from her rooms in the aftermath, his seed still sticky on her thighs as she wept. Her handmaidens were exiled from her chambers, and she bathed herself, the water tepid and not enough to remove the guilt she now felt. 

When Rhaegar came to her that night she did nothing to push him away, and if he noticed something amiss with his wife, he kept quiet. She curled into his arms and felt her tears pool at her eyes, but did not release them. He would only question it, and then she would be forced to admit… no. What she and Jaime had was between them, and no one else. She could bury it inside herself and forget, she would. 

The moon tea was forgotten in the morning, and Cersei resumed playing Queen, entertained and danced. At the back of her mind was Jaime, and before her eyes and in her muscle memory. 

\---

She didn’t tell Rhaegar when she knew. She didn’t tell anyone. Her handmaidens would give her looks when she refused her tea, and so she poured it into the flowers potted outside her window, blaming the way they withered on the winter’s early frosts. Her stomach began to swell, and she turned away all but the two girls that had been with her since she first came to King’s Landing after Harrenhall. At least with the cold no one questioned the thicker dresses she commissioned. Not that she gained much weight. 

“You should see the Maester, Your Grace,’ one of the girls told her after it had been months, concerned over the small curve of her mistresses stomach. More than Cersei appeared anyway. 

But she was concerned. Sitting in her rooms as she avoided the cold, her hands pressed through the wool. At first, it was hard to do much more than silently cherish the babe, but later she began to speak to it. 

“Be strong, little one,” she breathed, glancing up at the quiet grey of the city in the thick of winter. “Don’t let the cold get to you.” 

“I was wondering if you were ever going to admit it.” She jolted, Rhaegar’s voice startling her to her feet. For a moment it was fear in her eyes, fear he’d be angry, he’d be hurt, fear that he would somehow know of her lies, that she was caught. But she pushed it back. 

Swallowing, the Queen offered him a careful smile. “I worried the mere fact of telling someone would take the babe from me.”

Though his gaze had never been accusing, it softened immensely now. “Cersei…” He breathed, stepping closer. His hand hovered over her stomach and she felt momentarily caged, her heart hammering in her chest. 

She looked up, throat thick with words that couldn’t be said. “I’m afraid, Rhaegar.” her voice shook with the truth, the force of holding back other truths. “Another babe in the winter… and with what happened.”

“The gods would not be so cruel to take another child from you,” he promised, “And we’ll keep the fires roaring in the keep. You won’t have a moment to be cold.”

Her fingers gripped his and she nodded, letting him lead her to the solar, moving into his arms and under the thick furs. She fell asleep with a heavy heart, swathed in secrets to the point of struggle. Jaime was still on her mind, and he seemed to watch her wherever she went, waiting for her signal. But they were not children anymore, and the stakes were so much higher. The babe could be his, or her King’s. She only hoped no one would be able to tell the difference. 

It could draw Daena into question as well, if not the twins. The boys looked too fiercely like their father to be Jaime’s, but Daena… Targaryen blood beat through her veins, but with her mother’s emerald eyes and pale golden hair, assumptions would be made. 

The worry seeped into her dreams, but she stayed quiet. Tense and sleepless that night, but quiet. Rhaegar, her confidant he may be, but she couldn’t tell him this. The secret choked her lungs, pressed against her chest and felt heavy over her heart. 

When she was a girl, Cersei would have given all to be with Jaime forever. Until the Prince walked into her life and the moon eclipsed the sun. All she could see was him. In the background had been her brother and his love, and she did love him back. A lifetime of love simply didn’t fade away, and it was there, underneath her love for Rhaegar. Avoiding Jaime wore at her, and eventually she was bound to give in, wasn’t she? Was it so wrong? He was her other half. They belonged together. 

“Cersei,” Jaime bent into her vision and she was suddenly slipping out of Rhaegar’s arms, the heat of the furs lost as she left the chaise. Her brother wasn’t as warm, the hard plate of his armor unyielding and somehow foreign. 

“I can’t.” The Queen whispered, “I can’t. I won’t do this to him, Jaime. You…” she stared at the fire, and then her hand slid to her stomach. “I’m with child, Jaime.” it could be yours, she thought, but her tongue was caught, and she walked away. 

\---

He remembered those screams. Some things lingered in the mind when one wanted nothing more than to forget them, and his mother had screamed the very same. Jaime could recall earlier memories, fishing off the Rock with his uncle, running into the horse fields with Cersei, jumping off the rocks and father’s scoldings, but none such as this. 

The maesters had ordered even the King out, and the two of them paced outside the heavy oaken door. 

Rhaegar looked ill, ashen faced with his hands gripping the silk of his doublet. Each time Cersei screamed he would turn to the door as if expecting a change, only to be disappointed. It dragged on for hours. 

“Was it like this with your mother, Ser Jaime?” He finally asked. 

Under those violet eyes he had tried so long to despise, but found he could not, Jaime could do little but nod. “Our father sent us away,” he breathed, “But Cersei led us back out, and we hid in an alcove in the stone, just opposite the door. Father must have seen us, but he never said… She screamed till I felt my ears could take no more. But then her screams cut off, and it was so silent. Too silent. I remember one of the midwives opened the door, and she was crying.

There was another scream then, Tyrion’s first scream. And then father opened the door. His palms were red with blood. He left, and I don’t know where to, but the door was open behind him. I had never seen so much blood in my life.”

Rhaegar looked faint, and Jaime didn’t feel much better, but he couldn’t hold his tongue. 

“Tyrion looked normal enough. His head was big, and his body small, but he was just a baby. Cersei saw a monster when she looked at him. Nothing but a monster that killed our mother.” It had gotten quiet, the same eerie quiet he remembered, and it was all he could take not to push through the door and see if it was as he feared. But Rhaegar beat him to it. 

They both went to Cersei, pale and looking like the Stranger had already come for her. 

“It was a battle, but her Grace is a strong woman, if she makes it through tonight she will be fine.” Pycelle assured them halfheartedly. “The babe, on the other hand… your grace, you…”

Jaime didn’t need to see Rhaegar’s face when he looked at the babe to know the King despised the child. 

\---

Cersei couldn’t bring herself to look at the babe. Instead she searched Rhaegar’s face as they sat alone in the birthing chambers. For once she saw herself reflected back at her as clearly as if she had been looking at Jaime. 

With the little monster safely tucked away under the care of a nurse who knew her throat would be slit should she say anything, they still had yet to decide what course of action to take. 

“I will not have it be known I birthed that thing.” Cersei repeated. The King gave her a blank look. “Get rid of it.”

 

“He’s our son-”

 

She nearly snarled, the shame bubbling up and making her voice curdle like spoilt milk. “It is a monster. An imp. I won’t have it.”

His jaw worked, his tongue pushing against the edge of his teeth in the way that always betrayed his thinking. “What would you have me do? Leave it in the woods to die?” The small folk would, he knew, but they were King and Queen… not commoners. Her own brother was a dwarf, and clever and successful in his own right. But Cersei hated Tyrion too, and nothing Rhaegar did would change that. 

“If you must,” She snapped, turning away from him. “Kill it. Give it away. I don’t care, but I will not have that thing in my castle. It is not my child.” 

Staring at her back for a minute, he turned on his heel and left. Stepping out the door he came face to face with the Queen’s brother. 

“Tyrion will take the child,” The Kingslayer was saying, the sound more like rushing water in Rhaegar’s ears than speech. “He’ll claim he’s the son of a whore and legitimize him.”

It took a stiff moment, but he shook himself. “Ser Jaime, what are you talking about?” Of course he knew. But why would he be talking about Tyrion? 

White armor glinted in the winter sun as Jaime stepped closer, his voice a whisper. “The babe. Cersei would have it killed, but give it to Tyrion. He’ll be heir to the Rock, if a bastard. It’s preferable to death…” They both knew that’s what would become of the child if it remained in King’s Landing. 

“Why go to this trouble, Ser Jaime?” 

He paused, and for a moment thought to reveal it. What would Cersei say to that? Finally, they could love one another in the light of day, for all to see. Until their heads were felled from their shoulders and placed at the city gates. Or worse. He could only begin to imagine the horrors that would befall them, and Cersei’s trueborn children. Jaime had just enough sense to hold his tongue. “I love my brother,” he replied instead, “And if my father had made the decision you and my sweet sister have, your grace, he would not still be here. Spare the child. Someday he may grow to be a great scholar like yourself, or Tyrion. Regardless, it would be inhumane to send the babe to his death.”

Rhaegar was silent. “No one could know,” he muttered finally. “If your brother could not keep silent, if anyone suspects…”

“Tyrion is clever, your grace. Clever and with a reputation for frequenting whorehouses. Surely one bastard will not go amiss.” He hoped. 

The King nodded, taking a deep breath. “I will not approach Cersei with this. But she will know, and you must tell her.”

Jaime would not have had it any other way. The boy was his, he was certain. Not one lick of the silver hair or violet eyes. All of Cersei’s other children took after their father in some way, and yet this small boy… He nodded, taking his leave of the King and returning to the birthing chambers. 

“Jaime?” His sister sounded confused, still delirious from the birth she barely survived and the milk of the poppy the Maester had given her. It would be far easier to get her to agree in this state. With her head swimming and fogged, Jaime could spin his words to ply her. Not always so when she was fully awake. But Cersei had always been the clever one, the brains to his brawn. His tongue would never be as quick, nor his mind, but his sword spoke for him, and he’d never needed to think much. Cersei did all of the thinking, too. 

He nodded, and stepped to her bedside. “You look ill, sweet sister,” He hummed, wanting to cheer her. Cersei only grimaced. “Tyrion is coming to take the babe.”

That got her attention, and Cersei shook her head weakly. “What?”

Sighing, Jaime took her hand. “I won’t allow you to kill him, Cersei. Our boy.” He lowered his voice, afraid someone would overhear. “You can’t send him away to die.” That got her to look, and the look in her eyes was pure terror. Of course, she would have suspected as well, Cersei was the bright one. And the one who had more to lose should the secret come out. 

“Our boy?” She shook her head. “That child is a monster. It doesn’t deserve to survive.”

He didn’t understand this, how Cersei could be like this. “That child is your son.” He reminded her, his voice bitter, “my son.” 

She shook her head again. “Jaime stop. Just stop this, this is madness.” 

“Tyrion will keep it quiet. As will father-”

“You cannot tell father. I forbid it, Jaime. Send the boy to Tyrion or send him to die but father must never know. Do you understand, Jaime.”

He sighed heavily, giving her hand a squeeze and bending closer. She pushed him back. “Never again,” she whispered, but he snarl was there in her voice, . 

“Cersei…”

“No. Jaime.” 

He felt cold as he stood, eyes averted from the bed, from Cersei. The armor felt heavy, but the weight came from someone else entirely. He stopped before Rhaegar to simply nod. “Tyrion should be here within a fortnight.” 

\---

The Imp arrive after twelve days, accompanied by a number of Lannister guardsmen. Fresh faced at eighteen, it had taken more persuading than Jaime had expected to summon the young Lord. Keeping father out of it only made it more difficult. 

“Claim Cersei’s bastard as my own?” He’d laughed upon reading the message, “and my brother’s, no doubt. A fitting punishment for those fools, a monster of their own.” He shook his head, but in the end he made the trip. After all, anything he could lord over his vicious sister was worth making the most of, and he did have a soft spot for bastards. Particularly any bastard with the misfortune to be a bastard and a dwarf. 

His sweet sister didn’t come to greet him, but his niece and nephews did. The children had somehow ended up sweet, and god knows how with their parents, between Rhaegar’s calculating studiousness and Cersei’s harsh fire. And they seemed to enjoy being at a level height with their uncle. 

Tyrion was lead to the white tower, where he found Jamie sitting in his room at a small wooden dress, writing. He slammed the door loudly getting his brothers attention. Jamie jumped and to look at his little brother.

“Hello little brother,” said Jamie with a smile.

Tyrion smirked at his older brother, “Coming to get me to clean up all your messes again, dear brother?” 

Jaime sighed, setting down the quill he’d been struggling with. “Messes? When else have I asked you to clean up anything of mine?” He spoke kindly though, and with a light smirk. 

Tyrion laughed, “Why the mess I kept secret all through my childhood, the one that landed us right where we are now.”

“You would rather I let the child die? I thought you had a ‘soft spot for bastards. You should for your own family at least.”

“And tell me Jamie, when has our dear sister ever thought of me as family? I was under the impression I was just the horrid little monster.”

He frowned, standing up and running his hand through his hair. “I’m not asking you to do this for Cersei. Cersei would have the child left in the woods to die. She won’t even look at him. But I… I never thought of you that way, you know that. And this is my child,” He lowered his voice. “Please, Tyrion.”

Tyrion sighed, he knew that Cersei would willingly kill the child, that she would most likely drown it in the river as soon as she could, she had already told everyone that the babe had been a still born. He was the child’s only chance; still he did have some concerns about harboring a royal bastard. “I assume the child is never supposed to know its true heritage?” he asked.

“You’re smarter than to ask that,” Jaime shook his head, “I doubt Cersei would even allow you to bring it into the city.”

Tyrion smirked, “Another reason not to visit, I’ll add that to the list of positives I am getting out of this. But tell me brother, what am i to tell my lady wife?”

Frowning, the Kingslayer shrugged. “That you got a child on a passing whore?” He offered lamely. “Or maiden, if you prefer. Say whatever you need to say, the girl will hardly argue. Besides, her family won’t turn father down.”

Tyrion shrugged, “I hope you have found me a whore to make this tale convincing brother.”

Jaime frowned. “I could, if you wish. It can hardly be hard to pay a wench to lie. You do it all the time.”

“Yes, but to claim an imp as their own, that’s a different story entirely.” Tyrion sighed, “Give me the night and I will have a mother for the child. Have the babe at the postern gate at dawn, brother. I will take great pleasure in announcing the babe to the court.”

“As yours, I hope?” 

“Yes dear brother. My baby... tell me, does it have a name yet?”

He shook his head. “Cersei and His Grace hardly saw the point in naming a child already dead.”

“Have you thought of a name Jamie?”

Jaime frowned, looking at the wall above his brother’s head and sighing heavily. He shifted as if suddenly much more uncomfortable. “Why?”

“There is no doubt in my mind that the babe is yours, it is only fitting that one parent should name the child.”

Sighing again, he nodded. “I had thought…” He faltered. “Tyland. Tyland Lannister.”

“Tyland Waters for now dear brother. But I like it, very Lannister for a doubly Lannister child.” With a smirk he turned and left the room.

\---

An hour before dawn, Jaime crept into the room where the babe slept with his wet-nurse. The woman was as good as his mother, a commoner from the Westerlands who could be trusted to keep her silence. She would leave the keep with the boy and none would be the wiser. At least only a handful knew that the child was still alive. He told the woman to head to Casterly Rock with one of Tyrion’s guards, who she would find at the gate. Dressed as a commoner, he hid the tiny infant beneath his robe, hoping the cover of darkness would be enough. 

Relived, he reached the gate, the child fussing against his chest. Dawn had not yet broke, so he held the boy, attempting to soothe him with the little practice he had from Cersei’s children. At least this one never screamed as the twins had. 

Tyrion was waiting for him just outside the gate with two of his Lannister guards on either side of him. He reached his arms out to the bundle, which twisted away from him. Tyrion soothed the babe and it relaxed into his arms.

“Looks like he’s ready to meet his mother.” said Tyrion with a sad smile.

Jaime frowned when the child was taken from him, and only more so at the mention of presenting him to Cersei. She would throw a fit, and Tyrion would enjoy it. If there were another way, he would never sit through this farce. “The only time he ever will,” He muttered. 

Tyrion sighed, “I never even met my mother Jamie, and look at how well I turned out.”

“At least you lived knowing who she was, and knowing your father.” Although, it was probably better that Tyrion raise the boy, spare him from the life he would live even if Cersei and Rhaegar would keep him. Maybe he could find at least tolerance, if not love. 

Tyrion’s words echoed his thoughts; “The child will be better off with myself as the father and the whore I have found for the mother. Don’t worry, he will know nothing but love from me, i promise.”

Jaime frowned, but nodded. “I know, Tyrion,” He sighed, but his eyes were drawn to the boy again. This was his fault, wasn’t it? “Promise you’ll never tell him.” 

“The babe will know only that I am its father and Marei as the mother. When you meet her, you’ll like her, and she could convincingly be the mother.”

“I don’t want to meet her,” He shook his head, voice flat and restraining a snarl.”Thank you for doing this, brother. But you cannot make me do that.”

Tyrion shrugged, “Then don’t be there this afternoon. The girl will come with the babe, and i intend on bringing her to the Westerlands with me.”

“I hardly have a choice in the matter.” He would don the white cloak and the gold armor and remain stoic as expected. Through the farce and Cersei’s inevitable fury, through Rhaegar’s cold glares. The babe was a pariah, and for nothing. 

Tyrion nodded, “Then we had best be on our way dear brother. I will see you later.” With that he turned and left carrying the little babe in his arms. 

\---

She had not wanted to be here. Rhaegar had all but dragged her by the hair to the throne room, and it was only her pride that kept her head high and her expression one of polite indifference, though her eyes were green fury in a sunken face, drawn pale and worn by the ordeal. Wildfire in the eyes of death. And her lovely husband and brothers decided to play with it. 

The chair was uncomfortable, though less so than she imagined the throne must be. Rhaegar didn’t want to be here either, she knew, but they had a duty to the realm, and an image to protect. A part of that was ensuring Tyrion’s bastard was only that, and never suspected of more. Though such a public farce was hardly necessary in her mind. But still, she waiting, hands curled demurely in her lap over the charcoal grey of her gown. Her eyes remained cold as her brother was announced. 

Tyrion stepped forward accompanied by two guardsmen and a tall women. Cersei noted how pale she was, her skin looked like it may crack at the slightest pressure, she wondered how this woman could ever live as a whore. Her hair was straight and a fine white gold, far to close to Deana’s own shade for her liking. She instantly felt hostile to the woman. At least, if the boy was not Jaime’s, Tyrion was clever enough to cast his net for a whore who bared a passing resemblance to her husband. 

But of course he was Jaime’s.

Any ice she would have spoken to him thawed in the presence of the few members of court about this early, always lingering to fetch gossip, even from the early morning grievances of the public. And weren’t they in for a treat today. 

“King Rhaegar, Queen Cersei I have come to make a request of you,” Tyrion called, his voice echoing off the walls of the room.

“That is what these hearings are for, Lord Tyrion,” Rhaegar hummed, as droll and polite as ever, and the sound grated on Cersei’s nerves. “Make your request and see it granted.”

“I have come about a request that is not mainly for myself, but for a relation of mine,” said Tyrion smiling. He waved forward the girl who came forward with a tiny bundle in her arms. “This is Marei,” declared Tyrion, “and in her arms is her newborn babe, Tyland. The boy is my son.” Tyrion paused allowing for the gossips to react to this news, “I have come to ask that he be legitimized as my son and heir.”

The crowd grew from barely there whispers to a chorus of spoken breaths, and Cersei felt her nails bite into her skin through the layers of her dress as bile rose in her throat. Jaime had said take the boy, not make a mockery of this. She dared glance at Rhaegar, met with the cold indifference she despised. He was a far better actor than she, or so it seemed. 

“An honorable request,” The King drawled, watching his queen tenser with each passing second. “But you are to be married soon, Lord Tyrion, and you would do this?” 

Tyrion sighed, “My future wife is only ten, hardly ready to be wed. Not only that, but I feel responsible for the babe. I brought it into this world and I should at least keep it safe. I have a soft spot for cripples and bastards, this child just appears to be both.”

The words spurned both King and Queen, and Cersei rose and strode off the dais as Rhaegar spoke. “Consider him your son and heir then, at your request and to care for as you may.” She swallowed, trying to block out her husband’s voice, but pausing to hear the Imp reply. 

“I think I can care for him very well Your Grace, I can give him a name and life, something an imp child would not get otherwise.”

She could not walk fast enough, throat thick with rage and the force of holding back. Tyrion would rue this day.


	9. Hell Should Be Easier

She’d been receiving the ravens, hiding them from Rhaegar. Though the King and Queen spoke on almost everything, some matters were not hers to share. The details of Lyanna’s crumbling marriage were one of those things. Robert may have loved her in the beginning, he didn’t now, by the sound of it. As Spring broke over Westeros, their correspondence increased, and Cersei’s anger with it. Her own marriage was strengthened since her visit to Dorne, and Lyanna was dying in hers. 

“I don’t see why it would be such trouble for me to pay my closest friend- my only, aside from you and Jamie that is- a short visit. The children will be fine here, and they wanted to see their dragons anyway.” She hated the beasts, but letting the children see them was easier than denying them. She’d faced enough tantrums and jests to know that by now. “And she needs me, love.” She hummed, stepping closer and resting her hands on Rhaegar’s shoulders as he sat in the high backed chair. 

“I don’t see why you can’t just send for her to come to Kings Landing. I’m sure she’d enjoy getting away from that brutish husband of hers.” Rhaegar’s hand found her waist with ease. 

Though she leaned into his touch, she let out an exasperated sigh and shook her head. “I’ve told you why.” She sighed, looking off for a moment. “She can’t leave the children with him. Would you leave Daena or the twins with a man like that?” She knew he wouldn’t. He’d already turned down Robert’s request for Daena’s hand for his son Joffrey, and even without the betrothal in Winterfell, Cersei knew that Rhaegar would not risk her in Robert’s house, or with his eldest son.

Rhaegar sighed in exasperation, knowing this was a losing battle. “Alright you may go, but make it short,” he said giving her a stern look. 

“Don’t look at me like that, husband.” She sighed, pecking his cheek. “I’m not about to let you start deciding how long I can travel for.” It was a joke, of course. He never asked for too much than she would give, nor could she stay away for long. “I just need to help her with a few things…”

Rhaegar arched his brows examining his wife. Pycelle had told him that the Queen received letters often from Storms End, more than she told him about. He had some ideas what his wife was conversing with the Baratheon lady about but he wasn't about to test them. “Help her with something? I don’t know if I like the sound of that.” he murmured.

The Queen smirked softly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You trust me, do you not?” She hummed, tracing the lines of his neck with her fingers. “I promise I will not cause any trouble. You have my word.” 

Rhaegar rolled his eyes; his wife seemed to have a knack for trouble. Lyanna only seemed to bring that side out more. “Yes because you’ve done such a good job teaching our children to not cause trouble.”

“You let them keep the dragons.” She pointed out, a slight pout on her lips. “I had to get you back for that.”

Rhaegar laughed and kissed his wife's forehead, “Of course you did!”

Grinning, the Queen bent to kiss him sweetly. This was why she was desperate to travel to Storm’s End. Lyanna deserved happiness, or at least respite. Cersei had her silver prince, the husband every girl dreamed of. Although Lyanna may love Robert, their love was more toxic than anything. The King and Queen fought, although the worst the King had ever done was grab her, and Cersei was prone to striking his arms and chest when she was extremely upset, they more often than not simply treated each other to silence. He would never hit her nor treat her the way Robert did Lyanna. 

Rhaegar smiled, “Just don’t get any ideas about how you want to act in court.”

“Whatever do you mean?” She grinned, pulling back and playing with the short hair at the base of his neck. “I’m perfectly behaved…”

Rhaegar rolled his eyes, “I completely agree.”

Cersei dragged her nails over his scalp teasingly. “My father would punish us both if I took one step out of line, you know it as well as I do.” 

Rhaegar laughed, “King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, yet we quake in the sight of your father still.”

“The fearsome Tywin Lannister,” She rolled her eyes. “At the very least, he keeps Aerion in line.” It was a bit ridiculous that her father ordered them around like children, and that they listened. “You did make him Hand, otherwise he’d be back at the Rock and leave us in peace.”

 

“And who would you have as Hand then, Cersei?” He laughed softly. “Mace Tyrell? Eddard Stark?” 

His teasing made the Queen roll her eyes and pull her hands back from him. “You’re ridiculous. Stand up to my father while I’m gone, love. If only so I can speak in small council meetings. I’m getting bored of you making me come to keep you entertained.”

“You do a little more than keep me entertained… Varys finds you very entertaining as well.”

“Only because he watches my face,” She smirked, “Be glad he doesn’t see my hands.”

“I’m sure he watches them, his little birds do see everything.”

She grimaced. “Not everything, surely. I have birds of my own, but even the best spies miss things, love.” Varys was the master of whispers, but Cersei was uncomfortable with the man, and just how much he knew. After all, if he knew the truth of her third son… that was a secret they couldn’t afford to get out. The monster was out of her sight, and Tyrion was to never bring him to the capital. Still, if Varys already knew, what was the good in all her precautions. 

Her brow wrinkled in worry and she glanced off for a moment, sighing heavily. 

Rhaegar seemed to know exactly what she was thinking about. “Don’t worry me love,” he murmured running his thumb over her cheek. “We are safe in our secrets.”

“You can’t know that,” She whispered, closing her eyes. “Someone could have seen, told him.. told anyone…”

“Then we can scare them to secrecy. Between you and I, I think we could outfox anyone.”

Cersei simply frowned, her fingers pressing into her palms for a moment. “I suppose,” she murmured, “It’s not like they would be believed.” She took a deep breath, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I leave at dawn, my love. I’ll say goodbye to the children tonight.”

Rhaegar nodded, “Tell them they're going to Dragonstone, it will make them moan less.”

“If I tell them it would make them suspicious,” she rolled her eyes. “You tell them. They love the beasts more than me.”

Rhaegar laughed, “They are not beasts and the children love you as much as the dragons.”

Cersei scoffed. “Being equal to a beast is not where I saw myself. And they are beasts, you’ll never convince me otherwise.” Her tone was joking, and they’d had this conversation before, but Cersei knew he was lying to placate her. All three of her babes had turned on her the moment she forced the dragons from the keep, and it had nearly sent her running back to Dorne. But she was the Queen; she had an appearance to maintain. “Are you going to send a guard with me?” She asked instead. 

Rhaegar nodded, “I was thinking Arthur Dayne, he’s always liked Lyanna. Plus he went with you to Dorne, and he is the best fighter out of the group.”

“Jaime is the best fighter,” she retorted instantly, “But Ser Arthur is fine. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t have to put up with a mess of Kingsguard in excess. I wanted to ride anyway.” She still rode the horse he had gifted her at the wedding, gilded gold saddle and all, though as of late she’d been trying to set a good example for Daena and avoiding it. “I’ve missed riding.”

“Now that winter is over you should take the children riding in the Kingswood more, I’m sure they would enjoy it. Maybe they’ll even love you more than the dragons then.”

She shook her head, moving to the door. “If you want your daughter be a wildling, of course I will.” She sighed, standing in the archway of his solar. “But I intend for her to be a good wife and Princess, so I will not.” 

Rhaegar laughed, “I’m sure Robb Stark would not mind a wildling, who knows what their doing up there!” He called as she left the door letting it thud shut behind her. Rhaegar smirked at his own joke as he sat down to read over a proposal of ships for the royal fleet.

\---

At dawn the next morning, Ser Arthur helped her onto her horse, the white of his armor and the white of her mare nearly blending into the thick fog. Even Cersei’s own cloak was white, though the black dragon emblazoned on the back looked almost ethereal. She shivered slightly. 

The cold was worth it though. She would rather brave another illness than leave Lyanna in Robert’s hands for a minute longer than she had to. The man was ringing the life out of her.

She wasn’t a man, she hadn’t lifted a sword since her 12th nameday, she couldn’t pretend to fight with her hands, and even tall as she was she’d never been allowed to learn to use her limbs to defend herself. But her wits and her beauty had to be enough. It hadn’t been terribly difficult to convince the High Maester to show her his collection of potions. An immodest dress tied slightly too tight and the mere hint of a smile and the flustered old man had opened the vault to her. The coin was merely a tip for his expediency. 

If this had been a normal visit, there would have been fanfare and cheering crowds, but as they neared the next town she traded her cloak, ignoring Ser Arthur’s questioning glance when she handed him the same black cloak she now wore. “Please, spare me.” She drawled when he went to question, kicking her horse into a brisk trot once more. It was unladylike to gallop as she had been, no matter how desperate she was to reach her friend. 

\---

Robert was unpleased to see her without Rhaegar, or perhaps at all. The Queen’s haughty glare inflamed his temper, just as her dress did his desire. It certainly was an infuriating combination, and one obvious to Cersei. 

She’d scarcely dismounted when Lyanna insisted that they take a walk along the Eastern and Southern battlements to see the bay. The wind buffeted them from all sides and whipped the waves to white peaks, but for once Cersei did not mind the cold, they needed the wind to drown out the words they were about to exchange. 

The wind howled about them, causing both women to shiver against the chill as they reached the farthest flung point, away from all the guards where the breeze was filled with flecks of salt and spray. 

Cersei turned to her friend who burst into tears before speaking a word. Cersei gently pulled Lyanna into her arms. Her friend was changed. She could tell even as she held her that Lyanna had lost weight, something she should not be doing three months pregnant with another child. The woman once so strong was weak and trembling in her arms, sobbing her eyes out and Cersei felt helpless, all she could do was hold her. 

“I can’t take this anymore!” Lyanna sobbed, “I can’t stand him, I don’t know what to do.”

Cersei held her friend and murmured comforting words until Lyanna calmed down, then Cersei reached inside her sleeve and pulled out a small vile, slender and full of clear liquid. Lyanna saw it and gasped.

“You knew this was the only option.” Cersei whispered. It hadn't been easy to secure, and she'd paid for it prettily in her father’s coin. However, seeing Lyanna now she knew it was more than worth it. 

Lyanna nodded but her eyes were wide with fear, “I know, but if someone were to find out, was to tell someone, if we get caught…”

Cersei replaced the vial in her sleeve and took her friends hands. “Lyanna don’t worry, nobody knows about this. And no one will. Not even my husband. Its a risk we have to take.” Lyanna nodded, but was still afraid, her dark eyes clouded with emotion. “Remember what he did to you,“ Cersei murmured, “What he tried to do to your children, what he already has done to them. You know that he will continue to hurt you and soon he will start to hurt Meera and Gendry more, Edwyn and Rodrick too.” Her hatred for Robert made her voice into a bitter growl against the wind, and Lyanna saw the lioness in her evermore. 

She knew that her friend would do anything for her family, that she would always be fiercely protective. Lyanna envied that in her, once she had pitied the Queen, seeing her marriage as being doomed the way she was, but now she was jealous, jealous of the love and joy in her best friend’s marriage, things she would never have. She needed to be strong that way too, to be the she-wolf once more. 

Lyanna looked up at her, fear blooming again behind her eyes, “I can’t let him do that. Gods Cersei, to think that its come to this. I thought I loved him once… I was so stupid.” 

Cersei gripped her friends hands, “You weren’t stupid. You were young and he was handsome and told you he would love you, and for all we know he did. Its not your fault he’s a lying manipulative bastard who doesn’t know how to love.” The Queen remembered the warning Lyanna had given her , the many warnings before her own wedding. She recalled their talk of honor. Just another thing her friend had treasured that she lost. The words flooded bitterly onto her tongue. 

Lyanna laughed, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Cersei pulled her friend in for another embrace and gently stroked her hair. Lyanna was crying again, but this time it was gentler and she seemed less broken. 

“Dont worry, “ Cersei murmured, “After its done Meera, Edwyn, Rodrick, and you will come back to the capital with me. We’ll make sure they're happy and keep all of you safe.” Lyanna nodded against her shoulder, “Nothing is going to hurt you now.” 

\--

As Lyanna returned to her rooms later that night she wished there was another way. She had never been one for murder, despite her childhood wishes of being a great knight she had always pictured valiant battles, fighting people to death, and their deaths were always full of glory. She had never wanted to kill anyone in secret, when they had no way to defend themselves, that was not honorable. 

Despite everything else that had happened to her she was still a Stark and she didn’t want to kill someone in a dishonest way. She still had some honor, or at least she still cared about it. 

When she entered her chambers she was surprised to see two sleeping forms in her bed. She crossed quickly and pulled back the covers to reveal Gendry and Meera curled up together asleep, Gendry’s arms wrapped protectively around his little sister. She smiled, they reminded her so much of her and her brothers during her childhood at Winterfell. 

Lyanna gently shook her son’s shoulder, waking him up. Gendry rubbed his eyes and seeing his mother, smiled. Lyanna smiled back, her son never smiled anymore, she wished he would. 

Gendry sat up pulling himself away from his sister without waking her. Lyanna crossed to the small table she kept by the window and sat down gesturing for her son to take the other seat. Gendry sat opposite her, running his hands through his hair musing it. 

“Why did you come this time?” Lyanna murmured. It had become an all too regular occurrence for her to find the two children in her bed like this; usually it had something to do with Joffrey. Lyanna really and truly hated her first son.

Gendry seemed to read his mothers thoughts, “It wasn’t because of Jeoffrey, not this time.”

Lyanna gave him a questioning look, “Then why did you come?”

“We came because of father,” Gendry murmured almost so silent that she didn’t hear him. 

Lyanna felt her blood go cold. She could take Robert hitting her every now and then. She was strong and could take it, especially since she hoped it would keep him away from her children. But she would not tolerate him ever hurting her children. 

“When?” she hissed. 

Gendry looked away, “This afternoon. We were coming up the stairs and he came out of his room. He saw us and started yelling about how she was supposed to be a boy, that he needed three boys a row to be like the Baratheon’s of old. She backed up against the wall, she was so scared.” Gendry quitted for a moment and stared at his hands. Lyanna leaned across the table taking both of his hand in hers. She squeezed them gently, passing as much reassurance to him as she could. 

He took a deep breath and continued, “She kept apologizing and I was trying to get him off her, but he was so big. Then he yelled that he should have smothered her when she was a baby so he wouldn’t have to deal with this embarrassment on his house. She found her voice then, she told him that he was the biggest embarrassment to the house, and he should be ashamed of the way he acted and treated you. He hit her for that, he said women were meant to be quiet and she had best learn that before her marriage.”

Gendry couldn’t continue, he had begun to cry, the tears streaming down his face, his body wracked with sobs. Lyanna stood up and walked around the table, crouching down on the floor next to him and pulling him into her arms. She held her son close as he cried into her arms and cried right along with him. 

Any regret she may have been having about what she was about to do was completely gone. She would not tolerate anyone touching her children. They were not his, not in her mind. No father in his right mind would hit his daughter, his child, his flesh and blood. 

She carried her son back to bed and tucked him in as if he were a babe again, then she walked around to the other side of the bed and curled up protectively around her daughter. She could see the bruise had already formed on her face. She couldn’t tell anyone where it was from, she would use the excuse of running into a doorframe, it had worked for years now. But as she watched her little Meera sleeping, she knew what it must feel like to be a knight. 

\--

Lyanna begged Robert not to hold the feast, but he insisted they needed to honour the Queen. She’d told him that this was just a short visit between two old friends, and Cersei wanted no feast.

Robert raged at her for almost an hour about that one, he said that he would honour the Queen since if he didn’t he would fall out of royal favor. Lyanna bit back her retort so he wouldn’t hurt the child growing in her belly but that night she flew into a rage in front of Cersei.

“He’s going to deplete all the stores and everyone but him and the whores will be miserable, and they’ll only be having fun because they know it’ll be a big pile of gold for them the next morning!” Lyanna fumed.

“Is he inviting everyone in the surrounding area?” asked Cersei in a conversational tone.

“Why does that matter?” snapped Lyanna.

“Is he?” The Queen pressed.

Lyanna glared at her friend before nodding, “He wants to impress Your Grace by showing how much the people of the Storm Lands love their lord.”

Cersei snorted, but then smiled. “Then we know when we’ll poison him.”

Her face wrinkled in confusion, than understanding and panic spread across her face, “No! there will be so many people there! Someone will see us!”

Cersei smiled, “No one will see us, don’t worry yourself. With so many people there it would only seem natural that he may have caught something from one or another of them. When the fever strikes it won't be seen as so strange.”

Lyanna wasn’t convinced, “It’s such a large hall, and everyone’s eyes will always be on him, there is no way that we would go unnoticed!”

Shaking her head, Cersei smirked “There are ways to go unnoticed by others. It would not be seen as strange if you passed your husband his goblet, say, or if he should ask me to dance and you remained at the head table.” 

Lyanna nodded, wrapping her head around the idea. She knew that she must be the one to poison Robert. He had hurt her for so many years and she did not want to let another get revenge on her for this. Besides, Her Grace may have brought the poison, and would surely be happy to do the deed for her friend, but should anyone catch them, she wouldn’t want to ruin Cersei’s happiness with this. 

This was her problem, her marriage, and it was her job to fix it. 

\--

They had a week to prepare for the feast and during that time Lyanna and Cersei rarely found time to be together. Lyanna was working constantly to prepare the hall for the feast along with all the food that they would need to eat. 

When she could she hid in her room and practiced slipping the poison into the drink. Most of her gowns at Storm’s End had pockets in the sleeves for money and documents so it would be all too easy for her to hide the vile. The problem was ensuring that nobody say her. 

Lyanna practiced with Cersei the day before and her friend helped her correct her hand movements to ensure that nobody would see her. Lyanna perfected the movements while Cersei tried to think of different reasons to keep the people distracted, but they kept returning to Cersei’s least favorite idea, a dance.

“I don’t want to do it!” cried Cersei throwing herself dramatically across the bed while Lyanna watched her friend with a raised eyebrow.

Lyanna glared at her friend, she had put up with Robert for years the least Cersei could do was one dance. Lyanna knew that she was just messing around, that Cersei would willingly do the dance, but her friend had always enjoyed theatrics and this was no exception. 

“You know its your only choice, it wouldn't be out of order if I were to remain at the table during the dance.” Lyanna turned to look at her friend, “It’s the best shot we have, and we must take it.” 

Cersei nodded, her own marriage had been so full of joy and happiness, all she wanted was for her friend to have similar joy with someone in her life. Cersei had watched the look in Lyanna’s face as she prepared for the ball, and it broke her heart to see her friend so without love.

\--

Normally Cersei reveled in the attention she received at feasts, but as Robert lead her out on to the dance floor all she could do was look straight ahead and plaster a smile on her face, she hopped that it would fool someone. She had learned the face as a child in Aerys court and had perfected it when she believed herself to be marrying a man who didn’t love her, back when the only man in her life was Jamie. 

The Lords and Ladies of the Storm Lands seemed at the very least fooled by it. They all had smiles of genuine joy on their faces as they watched their liege lord prepare to dance with the Queen. Cersei had been terrified that Robert would step on her feet or slobber all over her, but he did surprisingly well. He only tread on the hem of her gown once and he didn’t get too close for comfort.

Cersei made herself keep going, keep smiling. Five minutes of discomfort would be a small price to pay for Lyanna’s future happiness. 

Cersei made sure that her dress caught the light enough to draw everyone’s eyes. Nobody would be looking anywhere but the Queen tonight, especially now.

When the dance dance finished everyone applauded and Cersei smiled graciously.

Lyanna applauded along with everyone else and Robert returned to his spot next to her she handed him a goblet of wine. He was red from the strain of the dance, and managed to down the entire goblet in single swig. Cersei did her best to avoid a smirk coming over her lips. She joined Lyanna at the high table and the two women sat together until Robert was well into his cups, then the two women left together, 

\--

It was two days later that Robert Baratheon fell ill. He woke sweating, complaining of pain in his stomach and of feeling a temperature. Lyanna ran for the maester. She knew the role she had to play and insisted on returning to the room and sitting by her husband. She clutched his hand close and begged him not to die. If Cersei had been there she would have been proud, but the Queen and all the other Lords were confined to the outer room to avoid getting ill.  
Lyanna sat at his side all day, she murmured words of comfort at first, telling him it would be all right. Later when the maester became less optimistic she became more hysterical, she begged him to stay with her. She told him that she loved him, that she didn’t know how to live without him, and that the children needed him. She talked about their time together when they were young. She told him of their wedding, how happy he had always made her and how she didn’t know how to walk the halls of this castle without the promise of him around the corner. By the end she was weeping at his side.  
When the maester said that there was nothing he could do, that Robert would die, she asked that the children be allowed to see him one more time.  
Robert smiled as the children filed into the room. He called Joffrey forward first. Lyanna watched as her eldest son took his fathers hands.  
Robert smiled, “You’re a good boy Joffrey, a true Baratheon.” Her husband wheezed, “You’re going to be lord of Storms End now. Men are going to look to you, you must be a proud, strong Baratheon. Make sure you take care of your mother, and your siblings.” He paused struggling to keep going, “I should have been a better father to you, and for that I am sorry. Be strong my son.”  
Joffrey nodded before stepping back as Robert waved Gendry forward. Lyanna hopped that he would be kind to his second son. 

Robert smiled, “You’re a strong boy Gendry, a fighter. You are going to be a great knight, a man that all will fear to face in the field. Maybe you’ll even become a member of the Kings Guard, you’re going to be a man of honor. There is enough Stark in you for that.” Robert smiled and waved his son away. Lyanna thought he would call for Meera next, but instead he paused taking a deep breath. 

“Rodrick,” he called, “you next.” Lyanna did not miss the hurt in Edwyn and Meera’s eyes as their father blatantly ignored them. Rodrick toddled forward, his three-year-old legs barely holding him up as he walked to his father, “You’re so young, I’m sorry I will not get to see the man you will grow up to be. Make sure you work hard and listen to your mother, listen to your maester, and most importantly listen to your master-at-arms, no Baratheon man will grow up not knowing how to wield a sword.”

Rodrick nodded earnestly and stepped back in line, “Leave now, all of you. You shouldn’t have to watch your father die.”

As the children left Lyanna didn’t miss the expression of hurt on Edwyn’s face, nor the steely look of indifference that Meera was trying and failing to display. Both her daughters would never get over being slated by their father. Lyanna hoped that with him gone they could grow and become the people they were meant to be without fear. 

As they left Lyanna took her husbands hand and forced tears into his eyes, gently Robert reached up his other hand to her cheek, brushing one tear away before letting it fall back. 

“Lyanna,” was all he murmured as his eyes closed for the last time. 

\-- 

Robert’s funeral was the day after his death. Lyanna stood before the grave with her hair pulled back into a long braid. Her dress black as night and all her children lined up beside in black looked far too somber for what Lyanna felt was the best day of their lives. She prided herself in being able to call up the needed tears at the right time in order to seem like the grieving widow that she was expected to but when they returned she gathered her children as well as the household and several of the major lords of the Storm Lands together in her solar. 

She called Cersei in along with her; she would need her friend for strength. 

The Lords looked at her expectantly and her children looked nervous. Only Cersei knew what was coming. They had decided this before the feast, Lyanna did not wish to stay in Storms End, and not with all the memories of Robert she didn’t want to stay around it. 

Cersei had already agreed to have her in the capital and Lyanna fully intended to take her children with her. She couldn’t take Joffrey with her, he now had duties as lord of the Storm Lands, she had also decided to leave Gendry behind with him. Gendry was only a year younger and Lyanna was hoping that he would be able to keep his older brother in check and ensure that the Lords didn’t get into to much trouble. However, she was taking the rest of the kids and fleeing, she was going to the capital and getting out.

Lyanna watched as the Lords filed in and sat down. She straightened her back as they all turned to look at her expectantly.

“My Lords I would like to thank you for coming, even if it is for such a sad day.” All the Lords nodded sympathetically, even if they hadn’t admired Robert’s ability to lead, he was their liege lord and they wanted to gain her support now or hoped to win her hand. “My Lords, you knew my husband, and you knew that he was a good man, a great man.” The lords all nodded, they were buying it, Robert was always the life of the party, his lords were very fond of him and they believed his wife felt the same way. Lyanna would not change their opinion of him now.

She clasped her hands in front of her and took a deep breath, “My Lords this place is too full of my husband.” She said, “We have lived here together for almost fifteen years and enjoyed a happy life together. It is hard for me to keep on living without him, but being here in this place. It is too much.”

She paused and let the Lords sink it all in, they were believing it as far as she could tell. Meera and Gendry had the good sense to let nothing on. Joffrey just looked bored and Lyanna thanked her lucky stars for that, none of the lords were used to seeing him look any different so she doubted they would care.

She took a deep breath, “My Lords, I have come to a decision. I am going to leave Storms End. I cannot bear it here anymore, not without Robert. Queen Cersei has agreed that I may join her in the capital. I will leave the day after tomorrow; I will be bringing Meera, Edwyn, and Rodrick with me. Gendry and Joffrey must remain here. I will miss my husband far too much to stay.”  
Lyanna broke down once again in fake tears, and as Cersei rose and embraced her gently all the lords murmured their condolences. Meera was practically beaming with joy, barely able to keep it in check. Gendry didn’t smile, but he was happy. His siblings would be protected from their brother and he’d had gotten bigger over the past few years, he was now at least as big as Joffrey and growing, he could take him.

Yet what nobody noticed was the look of suspicion on Joffrey’s face. He had found the circumstances of his father’s death suspicions and now as he watched the Queen embrace his mother he knew that she had something to do with it.

Robert had always said that the Lannisters were power hungry, and that they would do anything to hang on to their power. Joffrey also knew that he was descended from the Targaryens, Robert had always said that should all the male Targaryen’s die it would be his right to claim the throne. Joffrey watched the Queen and knew that it was true. The Lannisters were all desperate to hang on to power and Cersei was ensuring that there were no male claimants left other than hers, she would kill them one Baratheon at the time. 

Queen Cersei had murdered his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be no Rhaegar x Lyanna in this fic. Sorry (not really though)


	10. Burn in Love Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Littlefinger puts his fingers where he shouldn't, and Melisandre uses her... assets.

Daena had realized at a very young age that the library was the best place to go when she didn’t want to be disturbed. Aerion and Aegon were always too busy with their latest prank or game to go there and Dany shadowed Cersei, who only came to the library for the fire. Thus whenever Daena wanted to hide from anyone, or anything, she climbed to the topmost turret of the library. Here were all the books that no one in the keep cared about, except maybe Uncle Tyrion. They were filled with the old stories, from before even the Age of Heroes, stories nobody cared about anymore. 

Daena had already read all the books up there as a child. But that didn’t stop her from pulling an old red book from the shelf and curling up on the window seat to read. 

Once more her brothers were allowed to go riding in the Kingswood and Daena had been confined to the castle to sew and gossip. She was once again bored, she always was these days, while her younger brothers roomed free and she was shut away with her Septa and the idiot ladies of the court.

Immersed in her book, Daena didn’t hear the telltale creak of the old stairs as Petyr Baelish made his way up to the tower. Even in seclusion, the walls had eyes. Not until his hand brushed her shoulder did she stir. “Sweet Princess,” he purred, in that queer voice of his, “On such a lovely day, a beauty such as yourself should hardly be shut away.”

Daena looked up at him and smiled as sweetly as she could, she never could stand the Master of Coin being close to her. She blinked innocently, “The weather is far too warm, and I fear I would burn, which would not do so close to my wedding day.”

He chuckled softly, his hand giving her thin shoulder a squeeze. “I expect you needn’t worry. After all, your Royal Mother spends the winter in the Dornish sun, does she not?”

Daena smiled, trying to find a way out of this conversation. “Yes My Lord, but she does not have a wedding coming up. I must look my best for my future Lord Husband.”

“And you wish to be as pure and pale as the northern snow?” Lord Baelish smiled, though it appeared more like a leer than anything, and his eyes flicked to the neckline of her dress. “I can hardly imagine he would refuse you even if you looked more... southron.” It was hardly difficult to miss the implication that he would not refuse her.

She laughed nervously, “It is not just about pleasing my Lord Husband my Lord, and I must also please the Queen and all the court.” She smiled rising to her feet, “I’m sorry My Lord but I must leave, I have a dress fitting soon and my mother will have both our heads if I am late.” 

He reluctantly nodded. Daena knew that even the Master of Coin feared her mother's temper. If only she had either of her parents claws. 

“Allow me to escort you then, Princess, so many terrible things could happen to a Lady alone.”

Daena smiled sweetly, “Oh don’t worry My Lord, I won’t be alone. My Uncle Jamie is waiting just outside the library, I’m sure he will see my there safely.” She noted the look of hesitation, or maybe fear in his eyes as she said it. 

She swept past him; ignoring anything else he may have to say to her and hurried down the stairs, pausing only to set her book back on the shelf. When she stepped out of the library Jamie was leaning against the opposite wall waiting for her. 

“Hello Uncle,” she said with a bright smile, “How long did it take for you to realize that I was here?”

Jamie laughed and offered her his arm. She took it as they began to walk through the keep at a leisurely pace. “Only about half an hour this time around,” he said with a chuckle.

Daena laughed with him, trying to cover up her frayed nerves. The encounter with Petyr had left her frazzled, but she didn’t want Jamie to know. He pulled her around a corner into a more secluded hallway and stopped turning to face her. 

The knight’s green eyes had that same knowing quality as her mother’s (of course they did, they were the same eyes), but without the smugness. Still, she hated that look. “Are you frightened?” He asked her softly, sounding confused. 

“No,” she shook her head nervously, “Not frightened. It’s just that,” She paused and bit her lip, unsure if she wanted to tell him what had just transpired, “I just had a bit of an encounter with Lord Baelish.”

They may be the same eyes, but Jaime’s betrayed far more of his emotions than her mother’s ever would. Anger, worry, sadness. “An encounter? Of what sort, Princess?”

She paused, taking a deep breath. “Nothing wrong exactly it was just, well, I was in the library up at the very top where I like to go to read. And he came there and started talking to me. Asking me about things... and he kept smiling at me like he knew something that I didn’t, or like I was something he was sizing up, pricing, deciding what I was worth. And he wouldn’t stop touching my shoulder.” She realized that she was blinking back tears, “He scared me, uncle.”

It took merely a second before her uncle had her wrapped in strong arms, pulled against his breastplate. “Don’t be scared Daena,” he murmured, “Lord Baelish will be taught his lesson.” Something in his voice made her look up, but he went on. “He should not take such liberties with you.”

Daena blushed, “Please don’t make a big deal out of this. I don’t want everyone to know, really uncle he just scared me the one time.”

“Baelish takes liberties where he should not. The King and Queen have spoken at length about the prevalence of his whores in the Keep and the city.” He shook his head and sighed, leading her down the hall. “As one of the Kingsguard it is my duty to protect you. And as your uncle it is my right.”

Daena blinked, still trying to keep from crying. “Please uncle, it was just once. I don’t want the entire Keep to know. Maybe if he does it again.”

Jaime sighed, kneeling in front of her. His armor clanged against the stone floors, a racket in the near silent hall. He shook his head. “Surely you know it could be much worse the next time. And I hate to see you cry.” He wiped her eyes, gentle despite the rough calluses on his thumb. “Allow me to help you.”

Daena nodded, “I don't think he’ll do anything if you’re nearby. Maybe if you just make sure there is always a guard on me he won’t bother me.” She hoped he would agree to this, she didn’t want all of the court to know that she had had one uncomfortable encounter with Littlefinger.

He stood, and nodded, offering her his arm again. “As you wish.” But she didn’t believe him, even then. Her uncle was a poor liar.

Still, she took his arm once more and allowed him to lead her down the hall through the Keep to the Queens solar. She arrived less than a minute late, still earning a disdainful look from her mother. Of course, she would take that over Petyr’s leers everyday. “Apologies, mother,” Daena mumbled, making her way into the room and letting the handmaiden’s and seamstresses set to their work. 

\---  
Westeros was a harsher place than Melisandre had thought. Of course, one could never truly believe the stories of passing tradesmen in the East, or those of the awestruck women who trailed them. But Storm’s End paid her no courtesies when she stepped onto its shores. And fewer still when she requested an audience with the young Lord. 

She knew what to expect, having seen him in the flames, but the flames could never give her a man’s voice, his personality. And this “man” was more of a boy. “Lord Baratheon,” she curtsied, the name catching on her tongue in a way she would never shake, no matter how many time’s she repeated it. 

 

“Yes, that is me,” Snapped the boy sitting above her, “What do you want?”

Arrogance was nothing new, though he had it in abundance. Such a pity the Lord’s chosen had to be so difficult. Forcing a placid smile, Melisandre bowed low, her scarlet tresses slipping over the exposed skin of her neck. “My Lord,” she smiled, “I am Melisandre of Asshai, a servant of the Lord of Light. I have come to aid you.”

“Why would I need your aid?” he asked, “I have plenty of Lords here already to assist me. What good is a priestess of some heathen cult from the East?”

She rose, starring the boy down, red eyes barely smoldering. “I have seen your future in the flames, my Lord, and if you are to rise against the Dragons, you will need the Lord of Light on your side.”

He blinked, clearly confused. “Rise against the dragons, with the Lord of Light. That gets me absolutely nothing, I would be crushed!”

“Have you such little faith, Joffrey Baratheon? Your father’s house is fabled to be strong.”

“We are not fabled, woman!” He roared, rising to his feet and glaring down at her. “We are the strongest house in all of Westeros! Our castle has stood against all the storms of Shipbreaker Bay and we are as strong as it.” He paused, “I have heard tell of your Lord of Light, yet I have yet to see any proof of his power.”

Melisandre held her ground, never once flinching in the face of such fury. Ours is the Fury, indeed. “I meant no insult, My Lord. What display would you require? You are Azor Ahai reborn, it is my duty to serve.”

“Azor Ahai? Who is that?”

Sighing heavily, she stepped towards him, “These lessons will take time, My Lord, and I have come a very long way.” It was doubtful that the boy even knew where Asshai was. “Allow me rest, and I will give you all you desire.” 

He considered it for a moment, “Give me some proof of the power of this god and then you will be allowed to go and rest.” He said, a smirk spreading across his face. 

“Proof?” Melisandre hummed, “The Lord of Light requires faith, my Lord.” She noticed the flash in his eyes, the way they rolled, and went on. “But, if you would have one of your guards hand me a knife, I could show you a small part of his power.”

He nodded, “GUARD!” he yelled, and one hurried into the room, “Give this woman your knife,” He snapped.

Surprised he would trust her with a weapon; Melisandre smiled and took the small blade, plunging it through her palm, until the tip rested between the knuckles of her hand on the other side. She didn’t flinch. Joffrey on the other hand gasped in surprise and swiftly sat down in his chair. Carefully, she wrapped her good hand around the blade and removed it, the ruby at her throat flaming. But not a drop of blood spilled from the wound. “Do you see?”

“You’re not bleeding,” he gasped. Then he rose to his feet and hurried to stand in front of her, taking her hand in his, turning it in search of a wound. When he found none he looked up into her eyes. “Is this the power of the Lord of Light?” he asked.

Smiling serenely, Melisandre took his hand in hers, warming his skin. “Indeed, my Lord. A power with which I promise to aid you.” She caressed his palm, her eyes swimming with promises. 

“Aid me in whatever I need, whatever I ask of this power?” he asked.

“As much as you and I can give,” she nodded.

He smiled, “Guards!” he called once again. This time when one entered he was smiling, “Show this lady to the chambers my Lady Mother used to occupy, and have a servant see that all her needs are attended to.” The guard nodded and motioned for Melisandre to follow him.

It was difficult to feel relief, but at least he seemed easily bent to her will. Just a boy, after all, even easier than a man. 

“Thank you, my Lord,” she hummed, pressing a lingering kiss to his hand before following the guards, keeping her eyes on him. She would rest until he came to her, and he would. The flames had shown her so, and though they were sometimes difficult, rarely were they wrong about something so consistent. 

Handmaidens, something she had never had before, flocked to her, smiling politely. “Just a bath, if you will,” she smiled softly, allowing the girls to disrobe her and help her into the steaming water before sending them away. As tiring as the journey had been, she did not sleep, though it must have appeared she had. Still immersed in the deep copper tub, she lazily opened her eyes at the sound of the door. 

“Is this a bad time My Lady?” asked the young Baratheon lord.

“Only if it bothers you,” she replied politely, “I was simply enjoying respite after several months journey.”

“Several months?” he asked, clearly trying to make small talk while avoiding looking at her, “From where did you come?”

She chuckled softly. “If you fear for my modesty, there is no need. I am the Lord’s servant, and yours. It bothers me not if you look.” In fact, she sat up slightly, and smiled at him again. “I told you, I came from Asshai, far to East. In Essos, if you know your lessons.”

“Asshai, I have heard of it. It is at the edge of some great shadow right?” As he said it he moved toward her and allowed his eyes to drift from her face down to her chest. He smiled at what he saw.

A boy, but an eager boy, by the looks of it. Still, she relaxed and smiled back at him. “Indeed. Nothing you have ever seen the likes of, My Lord. A place of magic and darkness.”

“My maester says that all the magic has already left the world,” he moved a little closer, “Have you seen magic?”

She reached out, taking his hand. “Much, very much indeed.” she arched a brow at him and brushed her thumb over his knuckles. “Do you believe him? Your Maester?”

“I did, until today,” he answered.

“What changed your mind?” She smirked, looking up at him with knowing eyes. 

“You did. You and your magic and your god,” he said with a smirk. He sat on the edge of the tub and allowed his eyes to travel down the full length of her body and back up to her face. 

Melisandre smiled, inviting his gaze and keeping his hand in hers. Of course, she knew he would be interested, but it would be keeping him interested that proved the challenge. “Not me, the Lord of Light. I am merely his servant,” she repeated, and then cautiously cupped his cheek. “And yours.”

“And how would you start to service me My Lady?” he asked.

Interested indeed, and lacking tact, but well, she’d had far worse in her younger years. Smirking, she sat up. “What is it you desire, My Lord?”

“I desire what is mine by rights, My Lady.” He stepped closer to her and ran his other hand up her arm to her breast. He took it in his hand, and ran his finger over the nipple. “You are what I desire, and I always get what I desire.”

Melisandre remained rather emotionless under his touch, her smile as placid as still water. “Then you shall have me,” she purred, taking his hand off her breast and standing, the water rising off her skin in soft steam. Arrogant, entitled, and certainly inexperienced, but this was the wish of the Lord. 

Joffrey stared at her, naked as she stood above him. He clearly had never seen a women nude before. Then the cocky smile returned to his mouth as he rose up to meet her, he was already several inches taller than her. “Good, finally a woman who understands her place in the world,” he sneered. Then he leaned in and kissed her. 

Her place in the world. Well, she could add insensitive to that list of flaws, but Melisandre did not flinch back. Nor did she reply, knowing he would want to lead his placid woman like a well-trained horse. But she needed him; her Cause needed him and all his arrogance. So she merely smiled and leaned closer, letting the heat of her body seep through his doublet. 

He pulled back sharply, “Your warm, like a fire!” he gasped.

She chuckled softly, caressing his face. “Indeed. He is the Lord of Light for a reason…”

Joffrey smirked, “I am starting to like the Lord of Light more and more.”

\---

As the wedding drew closer the keep became even more frantic and it became harder and harder for Daena to slip away. She knew Jamie was keeping and even closer eye on her than usual after the incident with Petyr, but that didn’t stop her from occasionally slipping away from him and finding a place to be alone. 

On one such day Daena was hurrying down a private walk outside the keep, trying to make it to her favorite shaded grove without being seen when Petyr stepped out onto the path in front of her. 

Daena stopped in her tracks, and her heart began to hammer against her ribs. She wished she had listened to Jamie and kept him nearby. Daena forced a smile onto her lips and gave a brisk curtsy. “Lord Baelish, what a pleasure,” she said.

Petyr smiled at her, but Daena didn't miss the way his eyes traveled up and down her body, lingering where they shouldn't. "The pleasure is all mine, sweet princess," he murmured, taking her hand and pressing a lingering kiss to her fingers. 

Daena was sure he could hear the way her heart was hammering, but she maintained a gentle smile on her face. "I don't mean to be rude Lord Baelish, but I am afraid I must go meet my mother for a gown fitting." She tried to pull her hand away but Petyr kept a firm grip.

"I'm sure Queen Cersei will not miss you for a few moments," he hummed, the glint in his eye hungry and rather startling. Daena tried to pull away again, but he pulled her against him more. "I have something that might interest you. An... Early wedding gift, if you will."

"My lord," Daena tried again to pull her hand away, but he held on. "I'm sure what ever gift you have would be better save for my wedding breakfast! Then you can present the gift to me and my Lord Husband."

Petyr laughed, and she felt the sound slither across her skin. She shivered. 

"I would rather give it to you in person, in private." 

Daena gasped, “I’m sorry My Lord, I do not feel that that would be appropriate.” she finally managed to pull her hand free and hurriedly made to turn away.

Petyr slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back, causing her to jolt slightly and fall into his chest. “It seems you tripped,” he purred, causing her heart to quicken, and not in the pleasant way it did when she thought of Robb. “Allow me to tend to you.”

“My Lord,” She gasped trying to pull away, his grip only tightened. “Really I am fine, now I must go and meet my mother!”

“Must you?” He hummed, leaning close to her with his eyes full of lust. Daena knew the look well, she had seen it on the faces of men ever since she had begun to show signs of womanhood, and her mother had warned her of it. But there was little she could do but struggle now. “This way, don’t make a fuss, or I’ll tell your Royal Mother how atrociously rude you were to me.”

Daena’s heart faltered, and then she remembered a conversation with her mother a few months ago where she had snarled at what a horrible man Petyr Baelish was. Daena doubted her mother would care about her being rude. Still the look in his eyes was scaring her. It was full of lust, but also something deeper, something more predatory.

“My Lord please,” she hissed, “I must insist that you let me go.”

He smiled, sweet and sinister, like poisoned honey. “Princess, I merely wish to give you a gift, I would never do you harm,” and yet his hand was sliding over the rich silks of her dress up, from her stomach to below her bosom. 

“And I thank you for that, My Lord,” she snarled, feeling more and more like the lion of her mother’s house, “But I really must insist that you let me go.” She wrenched away from him firmly and took a step back, glaring. She hoped she was channeling the look her mother had used a thousand times on Aegon and Aerion when they had done something wrong. That look could burn.

She hoped, but as she watched him gaze grew darker, hungrier. About to speak, she faltered when he stepped to her; only to see Aerion’s silver hair in the corner of her eye, and her uncle a half step behind him, hand on the pommel of his sword. 

“Lord Baelish,” Ser Jaime nodded, his eyes emerald fury that would have rivaled her mother’s. “I believe the Princess told you to leave her be.” He was patient, tactful, but Aerion was not.

Her brother had never been good at knowing when to simply use his words, and stepped between Daena and Lord Baelish, glaring at the man. “Aeri…” she murmured, placing a hand on his arm, only for him to shake her off and shove Baelish into the wall. Tall and broad shouldered even as young as he is, Aerion towered over the older man. “She’s been telling you to, you letch,” he hissed, gripping the velvet lapels of his coat in his hand.

Baelish’s feet were nearly off the floor, and her brother and her uncle didn’t seem to be stopping. 

Maybe the man deserved the blows they gave him, but Daena turned away, running down the hall to her mother’s chambers. The guard at her door barely had a chance to announce her before Daena ran inside, throwing herself into Cersei’s arms. 

“Sweetling?” Her mother murmured, her voice concerned. She had every reason to be. Daena tried her hardest to be the perfect princess, she never broke decorum, and certainly not like this, not since she was small and she had caught Aegon in the tall trees of the Kingswood. 

She pressed her face to the crimson silks of her mother’s dress, breathing shallow as she tried to calm her nerves and silence her tears. “L-lord Baelish,” she mumbled, “He was… he’s been bothering me… mother,” she started, finding it difficult to speak.

“Bothering you how, darling?” Cersei murmured, her hands feeling cool as she trailed them through Daena’s hair, and her daughter relaxed slightly. She leaned up and pressed her face into her mother’s tumble of golden hair, smelling the soft lavender the woman always wore. 

It took her a moment to speak. “He… he would come to me when I was alone and... make advances, mother. And today… he offered me a gift. But it wasn’t a gift, I know it wasn’t! And he grabbed my arm, but Uncle Jaime and Aerion… they stopped him, and they were beating him. Mother it was terrible! I never wanted them to hurt him.”

Cersei’s green eyes flamed like wildfire when Daena looked up at her. She almost pulled back, afraid of a scolding, but the Queen’s hand on her back was gentle. “Perhaps,” her mother paused, her voice soft and yet unyielding, like when she spoke in court, “Lord Baelish should learn his place. I will speak with your father.”

Daena flushed, “Mother... “

“Hush, it will be discreet, I promise.”

She didn’t see Petyr again, only the back of his ship as he was sent back to the Fingers, the small spits of land from which he’d come. Her father had exiled him, banned him from ever returning on penalty of death, taken his whorehouses from him. Her parents seemed far more serious about the issue than Daena had believed they would be, but she was happy he was gone.


	11. How to Make My Own Home

Cersei had never thought of gray and white as colors of joy, but she decorated the Red Keep in the colors anyway. The white banners looked so innocent as they were hung on the wall, though Lyanna pointed out that the white contrasted nicely with the black of the Targaryen hangings.

The Starks had wanted to hold the wedding in the North, but Rhaegar had refused. No Targaryen would get married away from Kings Landing, he said. Eddard had protested, even politely, until Rhaegar spoke to Catelyn. She'd been of the South, once, and though she'd long adjusted to the cold, she recalled its fury. And with the Queen’s ill health in even the southron winter, he worried she would scarcely survive the trip. And Daena would not be married without Cersei present. The Starks grudgingly agreed. This meant, however, that the wedding would take place in the Godswood. Cersei had fought it, as had Daena, until Lyanna stepped in and reminded both women that the Starks were of the North and if Daena's children wanted to claim their Northern inheritance, their parents must be wed in the Godswood. 

Cersei was still fuming over this as the women sat in her solar embroidering the day before the Starks arrived. 

"I don't see why they can't get over their Northern honor," Cersei snapped 

"Cersei please," sighed Lyanna.

"What?" The Queen affixed her with her best glare, but the other woman was as ever unmoved.

"The North is the home of the First Men, you are an Andal. There are different customs between the two, and the Northern roots run deep."

Daena sighed, “Then I shall be a useless bride."

Lyanna laughed, "Why would you ever say that?"

Daena shrugged, "I have no knowledge of the North." She'd sat in lessons of course, but didn't share her father's patience for them. The North had seemed a distant, vague thought compared to the lands she knew. And being the Lady of Winterfell and even further out of reach, until recently. She may have been betrothed since she was but three, however, the reality had yet to sink in. 

Lyanna laughed, “And I had no knowledge of the Storm Lands when I wed Robert.”

Cersei sighed, “Lyanna, the North is the size of the Storm Lands, the Reach, the Crown Lands, the Vale, the Westerlands, and the Riverlands. Combined.”

"I know." Lyanna shrugged, “The two of you are missing a rather obvious solution.” Daena and Cersei exchanged a glance, both a little confused. Lyanna laughed at their confused expressions, “Just remember ladies, that I was born and raised in Winterfell. I am a true Northern woman and no one will ever break that out of me.”

Daena gasped, realizing what Lyanna was offering her. The rest of the afternoon was spent in conversation about the North. By the end Daena felt confidant she had a working understanding of how the Mountain Clans functioned, Skaagos and its relations to Winterfell, and the Hornwood’s tension with their neighbors the Bolton’s.

At the end Daena had one final question, “Do all the Northern houses keep the old gods?” she asked.

Lyanna shook her head, “All the houses but one worship the old gods. House Manderly, the wardens of the White Knife are an Andal family that was displaced from the Reach and fled North.” Lyanna smiled, her eyes far away. She had had that look often in the past few hours, remembering the joys of her childhood. “They are good people, smart, but they’ll never let it on.”

Daena smiled. She was scared of the North, though she would never reveal that to anybody. She had always thought it was a vast wasteland, untamable and harsh. Lyanna’s stories had shed new light on it. Lyanna spoke not of a barren wasteland but of a beautiful kingdom. Of a forest that covered much of the region, called the wolfswood, full of warmth and joy. She had told Daena that although the winds could bite and often it was so cold it hurt to breathe; it was a beautiful place, full of happiness. House Stark was seen as the greatest rulers and their word mattered more than that of the Iron Throne.

Lyanna excused herself from dinner, and Daena suspected it was to go cry in her rooms. She knew her mother’s friend missed the North and part of her wondered why she didn’t go back. Daena knew that her home would always be the Crown Lands and nothing could take that away from her, she suspected that was how Lyanna thought of the North.

That evening her father announced the Starks would ride into the city around noon the following day.

“You must be present to greet them,” he said looking at all his children. 

All three nodded and Daena went back to picking her food nervously, wondering what the following day would bring. 

\--

The wind rose over the city as the Northern men rode through Kings Landing. Lord Eddard Stark rode at the front of the column with his wife to his left and his son Robb Stark to his right.

Robb could hear his sister Sansa whispering with her friend Jeyne Poole in excitement, but Robb could not share the girls’ eagerness. He had never met Daena Targaryen; everything he knew of her was from gossip and the letters his aunt Lyanna had sent him over the years. From what he had gathered she was the perfect princess. She had more of the Lannister looks than her brothers, though according to Lyanna she was clearly Targaryen. She always did whatever was her duty, whatever anyone asked of her, which from what Lyanna wrote of her parents was easy to believe. She also had a dragon. It was hardly enough to know if she would make a good lady of Winterfell, a good wife, or a good match for himself. Robb wished he knew her, but in a week’s time he was to marry her. 

At least they let him wed her in a Godswood. He knew his father's bannermen would never accept the marriage unless it was done before a Heart Tree.

The Red Keep loomed above them on its hill, overlooking the sea. In the sun the towers gleamed, putting the rest of the grimy city to shame. 

The Starks rose through the great gate to the sound of trumpets. As they rode into the yard they found an army of servants ready to help unload everything. A small party waited to greet them on the steps and Robb smiled as he recognized his aunt Lyanna. 

Ned rushed forward after dismounting to embrace his sister. His father had grieved after the news of Robert Baratheon’s death had reached them. Lyanna’s letter had seemed sad, but she was clearly not in mourning as father had expected her to be. Catelyn had said that something had gone wrong in that marriage, that it was not a happy one. 

Eddard bent greet his nieces and nephews. Robb noticed that Joffrey, Lyanna’s eldest, was absent. 

Once they had all greeted each other, Lyanna led them into the keep. Robb fell in step next to Gendry as they followed their parents down the hall. Robb could hear Sansa begging Meera for any information about the Princes. He wanted to laugh at that. Meera had been betrothed from birth and he doubted very much that after three years of living in the Red Keep she found anything remarkable in the royal family. 

When they came into the throne room they found that many of the high lords and ladies of Westeros were already in attendance. The Baratheon’s separated themselves from the Starks and moved to their position at the front of the room, to the right of the throne. Sansa moved to stand to his right and Arya took up her spot at his left as they made their way down the hall behind their parents. Robb wished his younger brothers had come but their father had insisted that their must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and so they had left the boys behind. 

As they walked Robb took in the Royal family. King Rhaegar cut an imposing figure from his seat on the Iron Throne, and beside him stood his wife, her gaze fixed on the oncoming family. Robb couldn’t read much in her face and he feared that she didn’t like him in the least. 

Below them stood the princes and princess. Robb had never seen Daena before, but he had to admit that she was truly stunning.

She was tall and slender with long blond hair. It was more golden than the classic Targaryen look, but still not the honeyed blond of her mother. Her green eyes met his, and narrowed. He could tell she had been sizing him up, though as with her mother, he couldn't figure out what judgment she had passed. She simply straightened her shoulders and continued to watch. 

When they reached the foot of the dais, they all bowed. Robb felt his skin prickle and knew that most of the eyes of the court were on him and not the rest of his family. The King and Queen formally welcomed them and a servant stepped forward to take them to their rooms. Where Arya was sent off to bathe but their parents held back Robb and Sansa. 

Robb examined his parents, both appeared nervous. 

Ned sat down facing his children and took a deep breath, “There is something I need to talk with you children about.”

“Yes father?” asked Sansa, ever the lady. 

Ned sighed, “You both know you’re here for Robb’s wedding, but there is something else you need to know.” Robb nodded, while Sansa neatly folded her hands in her lap, “There is another agreement, and not official yet, that Sansa will marry Prince Aegon.” Sansa gasped, sitting up and smoothing her skirt, “But it is not official yet.” Sansa visibly deflated, “Which is why you two need to be on your best behavior. Sansa, the King and Queen are watching you.”

Sansa smiled, she was looking forward for a chance to prove herself. She knew that she would be a good wife to her husband, and she hoped that husband would be the Prince. Robb wanted to laugh at his sister. She was his favorite sibling, but often her fantasies and dreams amused him. He hoped Sansa wouldn't be delusional about any of this.

\--

The day of the wedding was bright and clear as Daena walked to the Godswood. She had been there occasionally but never for very long. Though her father's family seemed to view religion as a formality and her mother was hardly devout, she had been raised in the faith of the Seven, and she did not want to marry in front if the Old Gods in these strange trees.

Still she knew that for her children to be seen as legitimate in the eyes of the North she must be wed here. 

She was first and foremost a Princess; she was the dragon and the lion. She would be strong.

The Northern and Southron lords stood together in the woods, but to Daena they clashed. The Southron were dressed in silks and bright colors. They wore their colors in the loudest ways possible. Next to them the Northerners looked somber. They wore gray, black, and brown. The only colors were on their right breasts where all proudly showed the sigil of their houses. 

The women were the same. Southerners dressed to impress, Northerners dressed for function. The blood red of her mother’s dresses would be out of place in the North, and was even out of place now. But she would rather meet Cersei’s softened emerald eyes than those of the Northern lords. 

Daena took a deep breath and forced herself to raise her eyes and look at the heart tree. On either side stood the families, lined up by age all dressed in their finest. Lord Stark loomed terrifying, all Northern gruffness. She felt her gut clench in fear as her father took her arm. She didn't want to be afraid. She was of the blood of the dragon, she shouldn't be scared. But the north was so far... So vastly different from what she'd known. At least Aerion would marry the daughter of one if her mother’s closest friends, and have the choice to stay in the Capital or return with his bride to Dorne. And their mother would visit him every winter. But Winterfell... She knew the maps; it was leagues away, several months journey. And her mother would never make that journey, even if her father did. They were sending her away, off the end of the earth. 

Robb was handsome at least, in a boyish way. He was so different from her brothers, dark and red and not the golden she knew. Not as tall either, mercifully. A small part of her wished her father wasn't sending her away, that he'd fall back on old customs and marry her to Aegon, just so she could stay close to home. But she was also grateful that she wouldn't be marrying her brother. Though she loved them, the thought of being with either brother in that way made her ill. 

As she walked toward her soon-to-be husband she was luckily that her mother had hammered her manners into her over the years. She did not falter once despite the twist of fear. She couldn’t read Robb’s expression. It was hard, like the North, but she could tell that he was feeling something and she yearned to know what it was. Maybe in a few years she would. 

Regardless, she had nearly collapsed by the time she reached the tree, held aloft only by her father’s arm and her corset. 

She did her duty. She knelt before the trees and said her vows, pledged to love and serve her husband. Then he draped a white cloak about her shoulders and it was over. She would now be a Stark forever, she would go North and she would be forgotten

\--

Daena was having a harder time remembering that she was a Princess the further and further north they went. As the cold began to descend along the Neck the Northern men seemed to come back to life. Daena watched as Robb and Theon joked more, as Arya grew less hostile, and Sansa relaxed. The North had the opposite effect on Daena. The cold clawed at her and the landscape seemed woefully drab to her. As they came to the end of the Neck she had been hoping for some sort of castle to rest in, she had assumed that Moat Cailin was a great fortress; instead she was met with three leaning towers in a swamp.

She hopped the rest of the North wasn't like this, but she couldn't help but close herself up further in disappointment. 

Sansa watched as her good sister drew back inside herself. It was hard to watch, though she hardly knew the girl she pitied her for having to come north after the vibrancy and warmth of the south.

As Daena dismounted, wrapping her thin cloak tighter about herself, Sansa took action. She walked over to Daena, took her by the arm and proceeded to drag her down the baggage train.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Daena.

"Fixing your problem." Was Sansa's firm reply.

"What problem?" Daena snapped, growing hostile.

"Well," Sansa replied, waiting for a horse to move out of their way, "the fact that you're freezing to death."

Daena bristled, "I am the blood of the Dragon, I don't get cold."

"Right," said Sansa pulling her along, "and I'm a Valyrian warlord. Look I can tell you're cold, everyone is when they first come here. It's not something to be ashamed of."

Sansa stopped them in front of one of the wagons filled with trunks. She spoke to the driver who hurriedly removed a large trunk of burnished oak and set it down before them. Sansa opened it and pulled out a dark robe. When she held it up, Daena gasped.

The fabric of the cloak was a pale simple grey of carefully woven wool. It had four clasps of alternating snowflakes and wolves in silver. Around the cuffs of the sleeves was a soft fur that matched the fabric itself. When Sansa undid the clasps Daena could see that the inside was lined head to toe with more of the grey fur. Daena leaned forward and ran her fingers over the lining and she sighed at the feeling of it. It was softer than any silk she had ever touched, but there was obvious warmth to it.

Sansa smiled, “See, even warmth can be beautiful.”

Daena was at a loss for words, “I can’t believe how amazing it is.”

Sansa handed it to her, “Put it on.”

“What?”

“Put it on, you’re freezing to death and I have a million others.” Sansa said as she held up the robe. Daena gave in, turned around. Sansa slipped it over her shoulders and Daena did the clasps still marveling at the beauty.

“When we get to Winterfell we’ll have to update your wardrobe.” said Sansa as the two girls headed back up the baggage train to the towers. 

Robb was waiting for them. As they reached him Daena separated herself from Sansa and took Robb’s arm. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, Daena had been very cold to him and hadn’t been willing to even touch him more than was needed. He supported her and guided her away from the towers.

“Are we not staying in the tower?” She asked.

Robb shook his head, “The towers may be fit for the men during times of war, but they are not suited for a Lady, especially a Princess.”

Robb lead her up the hill where men were already setting up for the night. At the top stood four tents all in a row. All had the same coloring of grey and white, but one had accents of blue and another hints of red. Daena and Robb’s tent was set away from the others. Robb held the flap open for her as she passed under. 

A fire was already burning in the braiser set up in the middle of the room. A maid was laying out a meal that had already been prepared. As soon as she was finished Daena dismissed her.

Robb watched as Daena walked to stand beside the fire, watching the colors leap and change. Finally she turned and looked at him, her green eyes seemed to penetrate his soul.

“I feel like we should be honest with each other.” She said.

Robb undid his cloak and threw it over a chair before turning to look at her, arms folded across his chest.

“Ok, be honest.” was his response.

Daena lifted her chin to meet his eyes. Robb was one of the few people she had met outside of her family who really looked down on her. 

“I am not the biggest fan of you,” she said.

“The feeling is mutual.”

“But,” Daena paused, “I want to try and make this work. We hardly know each other, and I’m guessing we both have fairly biased opinions of the other’s home and family.” Robb’s eyebrows arched, “You seem to be a nice man, and as far as I can tell the North is a nice place, apart from the cold. I want to be more than just your wife, I want to be important to you.”

Robb nodded, “And I want the same. Don’t worry, I will never make you do anything you aren’t willing to.” Daena smiled and turned away, but Robb spoke again, “And Daena, I’ve never seen you look more beautiful than in fur and wool.”

Daena smiled to herself and sat down by the table beginning her meal.

\--

By the time the entourage reached Winterfell the snow had begun to fall in thick flakes. Daena spent the first day getting settled in her chambers adjoining Robb’s but on the second day she asked Lady Catelyn and Lady Sansa to help her with her wardrobe. She had returned Sansa’s robe to her and had noticed the bastard Jon Snow glaring at her when he saw her wearing it. 

Lady Catelyn surveyed the cloths laid out on her good-daughter’s bed with anger. Of all the 20 every day gowns brought by the Princess only 2 would be fit for the cold air of the North. None of the cloaks in her possession were near thick enough to withstand the cold, and there were no furs. Lady Catelyn shook her head. 

“I’m afraid Daena that you will have to be cold for a few days, only two of these gowns will be able to withstand the North, and they’ll only be good for summer. There are a few we could fix that would make them suitable, but the rest will have to go. We can make you new ones, but half will need to be thrown out.” She said as she ran her fingers over the silk. “Didn’t you think to pack for the cold.”

Daena straightened her shoulders and glared at the older women, “I did, and I just didn’t think it would be this cold.”

Catelyn shook her head at the girls answer, and then rose to her feet, turning to leave. At the door she turned and spoke to the two girls. “Go into the Wintertown and buy enough wool to make 10 gowns and wool for cloaks. I will send Robb and Jon out to hunt for some suitable furs.” Catelyn turned and left leaving the other two alone. 

Daena moved to sit by the fire; Sansa took the seat across from her, folding her hands in her lap. The two women stared into the fire for a few minutes in silence.

“Who is Jon Snow?” Daena asked, startling Sansa from her thoughts. 

“Jon Snow? He’s a bastard.” Was all Sansa said.

“Who’s bastard?” asked Daena, “Why is he allowed to live here?”

Sansa paused, when she spoke it was a voice filled with resentment. “He’s my Uncle Brandon Stark’s bastard with Lady Barbrey Ryswell.”

“Lord William Dustin’s wife?” Daena was surprised. 

Sansa nodded, “She told her husband the baby she was carrying was not his, Brandon claimed it as his own. Lord Dustin forgave his wife after Brandon’s death, but he didn’t want the child around. My father brought him here to be with family.”

Daena was surprised that the Stark bastard was allowed to live at Winterfell. She thought that only Dorne was a place where they celebrated bastards. 

Sansa rose to her feet, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ll go get you a something to wear into Wintertown, you had best change into one of those dresses at the end of the bed.” She said before turning and hurrying out of the room.

\--

Sansa hurried down the hall her long red hair bouncing down her back. She heard a pair of boot falls and felt someone walking beside her. 

Glancing to her right she saw her cousin Jon.

“Welcome home Sansa.” He murmured.

“Jon,” she said, “It’s good to see you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” He took her arm and led her down a side hall to stand by a window. “I noticed Daena wearing the robe I gave you.”

Sansa met his gaze and blushed, “She was freezing and I wanted to make sure she felt comfortable.”

Jon looked at her angrily, “I gave that to you as a gift, it is not for you to give away as you please.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes, “I only loaned it to her, and it was within my rights.”

“It was not within your rights.” Snapped Jon, his anger boiling up.

Sansa took a step back, and then she straightened her shoulders and glared at him as she spoke coolly. “I have every right to do whatever I want with my own possessions. Not only that but you, Jon Snow, are not in a place to question me. I am Sansa of House Stark and I am your superior. You will address me as such.”

Jon felt as if she had slapped him in the face, fuming inside he played the part of the good little bastard and lowered his eyes respectfully. “Sorry My Lady, I did not need to offend you.”

“No I assume you didn’t, “she said her voice brittle as ice. “Now if you'll excuse me I have work to do.”

Sansa strode down the hall to her chambers. She opened her wardrobe and took out two robes of thick wool to wear into Wintertown. She slipped one over her shoulders. It was pure white wool with blue embroidery. Inside it was lined with a dark fur that was soft to the touch. Sansa picked up the other robe; it was the one she had loaned to Daena a few days ago. She doubted the Princess would settle for anything but the best.

She headed back down the hall to Daena’s room. The Princess had changed into a simple wool dress in a dark red. Sansa had noted that almost all the cloths she had brought were red, gold, and black. She didn’t seem very interested in adopting the colors of her new house. 

Sansa gave her the robe and Daena slipped it gratefully over her shoulders, allowing its warmth to envelope her. The two girls set off down the hall together, Daena’s handmaiden made to follow but Sansa ordered her away. When the reached the gates of the castle there was no large escort waiting for them in the snow, instead Jory Cassel stood beside a young man. Sansa smiled and greeted both pleasantly while Daena watched nervously. In King’s Landing they never left the Red Keep unless they were mounted with an armed escort. Sansa appeared prepared to just walk out the gates with an old man and a young boy guarding them.

Daena grabbed her arm, “Are you sure we can leave without an escort?”

Sansa patted her hand, “Don’t worry, this isn’t King’s Landing, nobody will hurt us here.” She said before dragging Daena out of the castle.

They walked through the small town looking for different things. In the end they bought more than enough fabric and returned to the keep with cheeks flushed and smiles on their faces. 

\--

The six months passed in a blur. Daena settled into life at Winterfell and began to even enjoy her husband's company. Both knew that their relationship would never turn into love the way their parents had, but they had a mutual respect and understanding that made their lives easier. 

After six months in Winterfell Daena went to the Heart Tree for the first time. She had walked through the Godswood once or twice with different Starks, but she continued to pray in the sept with Sansa and Lady Catelyn. 

A light rain had fallen all morning and by the time Daena entered into the woods the earthy smells were overwhelming. Unlike with the incense in the Sept yesterday she did not feel the urge the throw up. 

Daena reached the heart tree and knelt before it, lowering her head. The snow was already thick on the ground but she had chosen a wool gown today, knowing she would be coming out here. She didn’t move but stayed kneeling by the pool until she heard a twig snap behind her. 

Whipping her head around she searched the trees looking for a person. Bran Stark stepped out of the trees and walked to a rock at the edge to the pool. He sat down and gave her a friendly smile, and then he patted a rock next to his. Daena rose and moved to the rock, sitting down next to him. Bran was only nine years old but Daena could tell that he knew things he wasn’t sharing, things a boy his age shouldn’t know. It had been the same with Aegon when they were children, always deep in thought. 

Daena smiled at the younger boy who watched the pool without speaking.

After a pause he spoke, “You’re pregnant aren’t you.” Daena nodded, Bran glanced at her and smiled, “I saw it in a dream.” 

Robb had told her that his brother sometimes saw the truth in dreams, or the future. Daena knew that it had to do with magic and unlike most she was willing to listen to him. She had more than enough experience with the power of dragons and the effect they had on people.

“What did you see?” she asked quietly.

“Two wolves,” said Bran, “One boy and one girl. The boy had dragon’s wings but he couldn’t fly, they weren’t strong enough, he was more wolf than dragon. The girl was different, she had great big wings and she was flying above the boy watching him, only he didn’t see her. She also had three eyes and a raven with three eyes flew beside her.”

Daena smiled a bit nervously, “Do you know what that means?”

Bran shook his head, “No, but I know that it’s good.”

Daena rose and hugged the boy. Then without a word she turned and hurried back into the castle. She wanted to find Robb and tell him before anyone else. She was only a month along by Maester Luwin’s reckoning, but she was already thinking of baby names. The boy would have to be a Stark, but she could make the girl a Targaryen or a Lannister if she wanted. 

\--

Robb was hunting the day the birth began. He was out in the Wolfswood looking for another deer to make a pair of gloves out of, when he heard a thunder of hooves behind them. 

He was surprised to see Arya coming through the trees with the wind in her hair, looking rather panicked. He turned to face her but the look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. 

He kicked his horse hard in the ribs and began to head back to the keep. Jon and Theon followed with Arya.

It took a two hours hard riding for him to reach the keep. He sprinted up the stairs to Daena's rooms. Inside he found Luwin, his mother, and Sansa clustered around her bed. 

Daena was covered in sweat. Robb was convinced that something was wrong, but Maester Luwin didn’t look worried. Instead he calmly told Robb that Daena was doing fine and would most likely give birth within the next six hours. 

Robb climbed into bed behind Daena, letting her lean against him. He noticed his mother’s shocked look and he knew that in the South men often left the birthing room. He, however, was of the north and he would be with his child when it came into the world. Not only that but he could remember his mother’s pain when she gave birth to Rickon without his father present, that was not something he wanted Daena to go through. 

For the next few hours he listened to the screams. After five hours Maester Luwin announced that the first child was crowning. Daena screamed her worst scream yet and then another wail joined hers. 

Robb looked up and was confronted with the image of his son. Gently he wrapped his arms around his wife.

“Daena,” he whispered in her ear, “It’s done, and we have a son.”

Daena shook her head, “No,” she whispered, “No there’s-” another scream ripped through her body and Maester Luwin quickly handed off the boy to Catelyn. Daena screamed again as the maester knelt before her and examined her.

“Princess,” he murmured, “There is another, you are having twins.”

Daena screamed again and Robb looked away from his son and back to his wife. For the next hour she continued to scream, worse than before. 

Then once more another wail joined them and Daena relaxed back against her husband. 

The children were brought to them. Robb took his son in his arms while Daena took the girl.

Maester Luwin herded everyone out, leaving the four alone. For a few minutes all Robb could do was look at his son. He couldn't help but smile as the boy opened his eyes and revealed Stark gray irises. 

Daena was the first to speak, "You should give him a Northern name." Robb nodded unable to think of one at the moment, "I remember an Edrick somewhere in the line."

Robb nodded, "Edrick Snowbeard, he was King in the North for one hundred years."

Daena smiled, "A strong name then." 

Robb nodded, "And would you prefer Lannister or Targaryen for the girl?"

Daena smiled, "I was hopping to name her for my grandmother, Queen Rhaella."

Robb nodded, "Rhaella Stark, another strong name."

He looked over and Daena who looked up at him right at that moment and smiled. Both could see the love the other bore their children in that moment, and both were happy to see it.

\--

Jon Snow stormed down the hall fuming. For the past month he had been forced to watch all of Winterfell fall in love with two idiotic babies. 

He could understand liking Edrick, who even at a month old was clearly a Stark in look and color. He was already growing hair that looked to be classic Stark brown.

The girl however was a different story. She had blue Tully eyes and had yet to even begin growing hair. Most of the women around the castle said that it was because the girl was blonde like her mother. There was nothing Stark about the girl.

He headed to the Godswood feeling the need to clear his head. He heard children laughing from the hot springs and made the choice to avoid them. He instead headed toward the Heart Tree. When he got there he was surprised to see someone was already there.

Sansa was kneeling in front of the Heart Tree wearing a cloak of pure blue. Her hair was free and cascading down her back. 

Jon paused leaning against the tree watching her. After a few minutes when she still hadn't moved he coughed. 

Sansa jumped and turned her head. Her eyes met his and he smiled. Sansa rose to her feet nervously running her hands over her skirt, brushing off the snow.

Jon watched her and felt his desire growing. The snow that surrounded her made her seem like a child of the forest. She was so beautiful and so pure, everything about her made him love her, he needed her, and his desire to posses her grew daily. 

Now he watched as she made her way around the pool to him. She took tiny dainty steps, but her dress dragging behind her in the snow obscured them. 

His eyes came to focus on her lips. They were so perfect, delicate and feminine, but plump in way that made it almost too hard for him to not kiss her. Her skin was a pale milky white, and her cheeks looked so soft, he could imagine running his fingers delicately across them, with the feel of her cheekbones beneath. Above all else there were her eyes. They were great blue pools of emotion. He could always tell what she was thinking when he looked into her eyes. They were like a tiny pair of sapphires trapped in her face. They glittered as she moved and as she spoke. He felt he could fall into those eyes. 

As Sansa reached him she smiled. It only made him want to kiss her more.

“Are you here to pray for Edrick and Rhaella?” She asked.

Jon shook his head, “I was here to pray for something else.”

“What?” She asked.

Jon knew he had to stall so he said the first thing that came into his head, “I thought you kept the Seven.” he blurted.

Sansa blushed and smiled, “I normally do, but this time, I came to pray for Edrick and Rhaella and for some reason the Godswood felt more fitting for the heir of Winterfell.”

Jon felt his chest constrict, at the same time her thoughtfulness made him love her all the more.

Sansa took a step forward, she was so close it hurt, “What about you?” she asked, “Why are you here? What do you have to pray for?”

Jon looked into his eyes and knew that it was now or never, without thinking he took a step towards her and whispered, “This.”

Then he grabbed her face in between his hands and kissed her. Her lips were warm and smooth; they tasted faintly of some fruit that he couldn’t identify. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue along her tightly closed lips willing them to open. Instead something very different happened.

Sansa pulled back out of his arms and he was so surprised that he didn’t hold on. Before he could register anything else she had backhanded him firmly across the face. He bit his cheek and tasted blood. Jon looked up and Sansa who was suddenly ridged, like a statue of ice.

“How dare you!” she hissed.

“Sansa I love you!” he blurted, “Please you have to understand, marry me Sansa.” He had lost all control. “I’m going to take Winterfell, find a way to legitimize myself, marry me, become Lady Stark!” The words tumbled out; he was unable to control himself.

Sansa was all ice in those blue, blue eyes. “How dare you!” she hissed, “You are a bastard, you may be the child of a Stark but you are a Snow. Nobody would ever legitimize you! I would never marry you! Why would I sink so low as to marry a bastard like yourself when I could have a prince.” Jon couldn’t believe he was hearing this, he had always thought she felt the same way towards him. “You will never have anything that is a Stark’s by right.” Her glare was now filled with daggers, “and if you are still here at week’s end I will go to my father and tell him that you attempted to force yourself on me. He will kill you for that Jon, no matter who your father was.”

With those words she turned and left, speeding through the snow back toward the keep.

Jon sank onto a log and stared blankly at the snow. He couldn’t believe she had rejected him, he was the true Lord of Winterfell, there was more Northern blood in his bones than in any who bore the Stark name. He gritted his teeth in anger. He knew that Sansa would make good on her threat, and he knew that if Lord Stark thought he desired his daughter he would kill him. 

He leaned back in his head thinking over the possibilities. He could go south, his friend Joffrey Baratheon would welcome him with open arms, and he knew that. But he knew in his heart that he could never truly leave the North this was his home. He doubted he would receive a friendly reception in any of the other keeps. He knew that many of the bannermen resented him and the favours he had received over the years.

There remained only one option after that. He had long considered it, and he knew that there his birth wouldn’t matter. He could always go to the wall. He knew that it was the best option for him. Not only would his birth not matter, but on top of that he could also use his years in castle training at the sword to his benefit. He could rise high, first ranger, most likely Lord Commander, and if he got bored he could run away and crown himself King beyond the Wall. That was and honor he knew he deserved. 

Jon hated the idea of leaving home, but he knew it was for the best. Rising to his feet he headed to his room. He could be well on his way by mid-day and at the Wall in two weeks time, beginning his assent to the top.

\--

Robb had never in his life imagined that he would be trudging through Northern winter snows carrying a picnic basket. Nor had imagined that his wife would be following in his wake carrying a pair of two month old children. Nor that after her Arya and Bran would be following, desperate for a day away from their mother. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” He called over his shoulder again.

“Robb we have been over this,” came Daena’s exasperated reply, “The cold of the air and the warmth of the hot springs should be the perfect balance even for a baby. Not only that but mother wrote me to tell me that babies like water and I would rather have water that didn’t cool against the children's’ skin.”

Robb smiled, this morning when Daena had suggest the field trip to the hot springs he had been skeptical, but Bran and Arya had ganged up against him and he had all but had to accept. 

As the reached the edge of the springs he found that the heat had cleared away a few feet from the sides of the pools, leaving a substantial sitting area.

Robb and Bran laid out the great blanket they had brought, placing rocks at the corner to keep it in place. Daena took spot at the edge nearest the water. Robb sat next to her, taking Rhaella from her arms. He found himself constantly doting on his daughter, more than on his son. Daena was the exact opposite, always looking to Edrick first. 

Arya and Bran wasted no time in stripping down to their small clothes and jumping into the springs. Robb and Daena watched them, laughing at their antics until Bran turned to look at them.

“Daena, can we take Edrick for a swim?” he asked, his voice full of excitement. 

“You have to take them both.” She told the young boy. 

Bran nodded earnestly, so Daena and Robb both proceeded to strip their children to the bone. When the cold air touched Rhaella’s skin she began to wail and continued to do so until Robb passed her to Arya. When the warm water hit her skin she relaxed instantly. 

Edrick on the other hand did not cry at all. Robb thought that he actually saw him smile when the cold air hit his skin. He didn’t seem to care either when Robb handed him over to Bran who dipped into the hot water.

Robb leaned back, watching his children and siblings. Daena leaned against his shoulder, trying to relax and rest. 

“You should try and sleep more at night.” Robb murmured in her hair so the others couldn’t here.

Daena blushed, “I just want to make sure the children are happy when they go to sleep.”

Robb shook his head, “I’m sure they will be fine if you don’t stay with them till they fall asleep.” Robb knew he would most likely get nowhere; he had already spent two months convincing his wife that she didn’t need to sleep with the children in the nursery at night. He had not realized that his wife would be such a doting mother, even more than his own mother had been. 

Daena laughed as Edrick figured out how to splash water, he couldn’t make it go very far but he was trying as hard as he could. Rhaella was trying to get out of Arya’s arms and swim on her own. He could tell already that both children would have a bit of the wolf blood in them, same as Arya and Lyanna had and Uncle Brandon supposedly had. He loved that, his children would be proud, Northern, and kind. He knew it in his heart.

“They’re beautiful,” he whispered to Daena, “I still can’t believe how gorgeous they are.”

Daena nodded, “Their so much more amazing than I could ever imagine. My mother always told me how wonderful being a mother was, but I never really believed her until now.”

Robb shook his head; “I still can’t see Cersei Targaryen as a kind and doting mother.”

“That’s because you have those stupid Northern prejudice, and think all southerners are wimps” she retorted.

Robb shrugged, “Well, they are. Oh, don’t give me that look, you have just as many southern prejudices as I have Northern.”

Daena glared at him but gave in, knowing that he was right. She turned back to the spring and watched as Rhaella began to experiment with kicking her legs in Arya’s arm. She may have her southron Targaryen and Lannister pride, but she knew that she could never have been happier with her children then the two she had now. Her two perfect winged wolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you get made and start yelling, remember that Jon Snow is 100% OC in this, he is nothing like his canon counterpart. Also this is not a statement about what we feel his canon parentage is.


	12. Temper Down and Bury It

Joffrey Baratheon was proud of his family. He believed himself to be descended of some of the most notable and important houses in all of Westeros. He was of the ancient Baratheon house and, on his father's side, a Targaryen. He was a descendant of House Stark and the First Men through his mother. It only stood to reason therefore that his wedding would be the biggest affair the country had seen since the Tourney at Harrenhal.

The entire castle was filled with cloth of gold hangings, most embroidered with great black stags. For every tenth stag there was a delicate green rose. 

Margaery Tyrell arrived at the castle a week before the wedding, her long brown hair flowing down her back. Joffrey did his duty; he greeted her with a kiss to her hand and a suave smile. His mother, who had arrived from the capitol a few days earlier with the Queen and his cousin Sansa, watched with an unreadable expression on her face, but if he had bothered to study her, he would have seen that her eyes betrayed fear and mistrust. Melisandre, who stood with her, wore an expression of interest. 

She came to him that night, her face deep in thought. 

"When were you betrothed to this Tyrell girl?" She asked.

Joffrey shrugged, "Since I was young. My father arranged our marriage right before Edwyn was born. He was worried it would be another girl and wanted to cement our position before a girl could ruin it." 

Melisandre frowned, "Why would a girl jeopardize your family?"

Joffrey smirked, “Father always said that a true Baratheon has three true born sons before he has daughters. Baratheon’s are strong, we fight, and we are the descendants of Orys Baratheon, the bastard brother of Aegon the Conqueror. Baratheons are the blood of warriors, women are not warriors. That was something my mother always failed to grasp.”

Melisandre sighed and shook her head, “Women fight battles of their own.”

Joffrey scoffed, “What sort of battle does a woman fight? The battle of what to order the servants to do or how to spend their day while their husband is away? I do not call that a battle.”

“They fight a battle in the birthing bed,” she told him, “and they fight battle of raising their children.”

Joffrey laughed, “That is nothing compared to real battle. Now I’ve had a very trying day.” He looked down at her, a cocky smile playing across his lips, “Is there anything you can do about that?”

“Of course, My Lord.” Said the red woman as she removed her long robe.

\--

Lyanna paced back and forth in front of the fire in her chambers. They were furnished the exact same way they had been when she had been Robert’s wife, nothing had changed, except she no longer felt the need to use the great iron lock she had installed on the door. That and the presence of the Red Woman, the whore had been using these as her rooms and the thought made Lyanna uncomfortable. These were the rooms for the Lady of Storm’s End, not for some strange woman from the east, whether she called herself a priestess or no.

She didn’t like this match. Though she had been fine with it when Robert initially proposed the idea, her opinion had changed. The Tyrell’s were a good family, and though they weren’t as strikingly beautiful as the Martell’s, Targaryen’s, or Lannisters, they had a certain pretty look to them. 

Now, however, she was nervous. Margaery was the Queen of Thorne’s protégé. While the younger daughter Loras was supposedly the very example of a proper young lady, Margaery spent a lot of time at her grandmother’s side. Though she didn’t actively show it, the girl was as sharp as Cersei. Sharp women never made good wives for men as gullible and egoistical as her son. After so many years she was not afraid to admit that her boy had gone wrong in some way. He was too much like Robert, too brash and violent and rude, but without the man’s humorous nature.

Not to mention the priestess he had somehow gathered to his side. The woman was not one Lyanna would have ever allowed to spend an hour at the keep, let alone the months she had evidently been there. She had seen her slip like a red shadow into her son’s rooms, heard the noises she made, those of a common tavern whore. A Priestess of the Lord of Light, they said, on the young Lord’s council. And yet she did not appear like any priestess that Lyanna had seen. She certainly did not behave with chastity or honour. And yet her boy hung on the woman’s every word, as if she were a prophet come to bring him victory. 

Victory in what? That was far more worrying. 

“I can’t see how someone like that could simply appear in my home,” She sighed, running a hand over her hair as she watched Cersei ponder the latest ravens. The Queen had been in tireless correspondence with the Martells of Dorne for weeks now. Lyanna doubted that the woman had been listening to a word she said. 

But it appeared she was wrong. “It’s plain to see, Lyanna,” the blonde almost chuckled, her delicate fingers scribing a lengthy message. “Imagine if I left Aerion in charge of the Keep. The place would be filled with whores within a fortnight.” 

She did have a point. Lyanna sighed heavily. “But he would not be blind enough to put one on his council, would he? The Prince may be… hot blooded, but he is not blind.” Joffrey, on the other hand, appeared blinded by lust. Surely the Tyrell’s had already realized they were marrying their prized daughter off to a boy already wed in all but name. “And Margery… surely Joffrey would recognize her beauty and discard the Red Woman?”

“You truly believe that?” Cersei looked up this time. “Look to your own marriage, Lyanna. Was Robert ever remotely faithful? Surely the Tyrell girl will forgive Joffrey’s indiscretions as you forgave Robert’s.” 

Lyanna stared at her friend for a moment, feeling her blood boil at the reminder, and yet… “Maybe it will be for the best then, if Joffrey is like his father.” Brutal in and out of the bedchamber. 

She watched the Queen sigh, an unreadable expression on her face. Calculating, Lyanna knew. 

“What is it, Your Grace?”

Lips pursed, Cersei looked out the window, over the bleak expanse of Shipbreaker bay. They had been placed in adjoining rooms, the Queen in the second stateliest bedchamber and Lyanna in her former rooms. The view was bleak, to say the least. “This Red Woman,” she sighed, “She’s not a common whore. A shadowbinder from Asshai, a follower of R’Hllor… she would not simply appear.”

“You don’t think…” Joffrey couldn’t know. The boy had loved his father so, seen beyond every single fault the man possessed. The knowledge that the Queen of all people had a (rather significant) hand in his death would send the boy into a rage.

Cersei’s back was to her, the tension there evident. “I can’t say, Lyanna,” she sighed, “It would be a fool’s errand, to move against the crown, now anyways. But with the backing of the Tyrells?” Her shoulders shook as she laughed. “I’ve been writing Doran, your brother in the North as well. There have been worrying rumours, to say the least.”

\---

Margaery was sitting on the windowsill of the room she had been given, watching the sea. She had never been to Storm’s End before and found the immense castle rather intimidating.

She had begged her father to ignore this marriage, to marry her to Prince Aegon instead, but her father had insisted that they must keep their word and marry her to the young Baratheon lord. At the time he had still thought of claiming Daena Targaryen for Willas, but that had failed. The princess had married Robb Stark and was now freezing away up north.

Margaery rested her head against the windowpane and sighed. She had always wanted to be the Queen, and her grandmother had spent quite a bit of time training her to be one. The day that Margaery had heard of her betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon she had cried for hours. She wondered whom the young Prince would marry now, there were hardly any suitable women left. Even if her father hadn't put her on the throne, Margaery was determined to get herself there one way or another. 

As Margaery continued to stare out the window she hear a knock at the door, “Who is it?” she called.

“Melisandre,” A smooth voice replied from the hall. The woman didn’t seem to have, or to need, another name. She opened the door without waiting for permission, stepping in silently. 

Under normal circumstances, Margaery would have risen to meet her, instead she remained sitting. She didn’t feel the need to rise to greet her future husband’s whore. “Hello,” she said, barely inclining her head.

The woman didn’t seem remotely surprised by the curtness. “Hello, My Lady,” she smiled, so close to a smirk Margaery instantly stiffened. “I think I would be best to get to know each other, after all, we’re to be seeing quite a lot of each other.”

Margaery smirked at the woman standing opposite her, “I don’t think we will. I don’t make it a custom to speak with whores.”

The woman didn’t even look affronted, “I’m sorry if you are confused my lady. I am no whore, I am a servant of R’Hllor, the one true god.” Melisandre’s eyes glinted, wide and red, but beautiful nonetheless. Margaery did not feel threatened though. She would be Lady of Storm’s End, not this exotic charlatan. 

Instead, she rolled her eyes, head tilted aristocratically. Her grandmother had ensured she expected her husband’s flaws- even this. “The one true god? Don’t let the septons hear you.”

“Our lord has sent them away,” the red woman replied, her ruby eyes burning with a misplaced pride Margaery didn’t understand.

“The Septons? But who will marry us?” She murmured, but then she recalled her own entourage, Lady Baratheon’s, and the Queen’s. Surely someone had a septon? As honored, as she was to have the Queen there, she wished she had brought one of her sons. Joffrey Baratheon may hold Storm’s End, but he would never be as breathtaking as the Targaryen Princes, nor would he inherit the throne. But Cersei held those boys too close to her chest, and had an inborn distaste for Tyrells. Tywin and Olenna were not allies, per se. Still, she was grateful that her wedding had drawn the Dragon’s Queen, no other Lady could brag that, not even the Princess, now the Lady of Winterfell, since the North was too cold for the Queen’s fickle health. 

But heir apparent or not, Margaery would find a way to ensure her throne. 

The red woman sighed. “Lord Baratheon’s bannermen have provided your holy men with them, and after they have gone you will be married in the eyes of the Lord.” 

Margaery arched her brow at this woman, "And what does Lord Baratheon's mother say of this?"

“She has not spoken,” Melisandre, hummed, her lips half smirking, “I do believe she shares your distaste.”

"I do not have distaste," she snarled, "I merely doubt the existence of your false god."

Her smirk faded in a subtle look of displeasure Margaery was used to seeing on her grandmother. “You will see,” she murmured, “In time, you will see the fallacy of your idols.”

Margaery straightened her shoulders. She may not believe in the Seven as devotedly as her brother Willas, but she knew what was expected of her as a lady of the south. "I doubt I will see anything that will make me believe in this god that you keep."”

She watched as the Red Woman fingered the ruby at her throat, the stone seeming to pulse slightly. “Do you trust your eyes, m’lady?”

"Of course!" Said Margaery, taken aback. The stone was pulsing stronger; it had taken on a mesmerizing glow.

“Then learn to see,” Melisandre purred, “And you will see R'Hllor power stronger than anything your Seven have done for you.”

Margaery looked at this woman critically. She knew what she was to her future husband, but there was something about her that she couldn’t quite place. A power that scared her. She took a deep breath before asking her next question, “And do you plan on continuing your relationship with my husband after we are wed?”

Melisandre straightened her shoulders, “If that is our Lord's command.”

Margaery gasped, “You lie with my husband because your god commands it?”

Melisandre laughed, she turned and walked to the door. When she reached it she paused and turned around, “No I lie with Lord Baratheon because he commands it.” Then she left the room.

\--

Margaery spent the next week worrying about the red woman. She would not tolerate a third person in her marriage. She cut the neckline of her gown even lower than it already was, Loras had tittered as she had watched, but grandmother had shut her up. Margaery felt she was sure she would have been at a complete loss without her grandmother. 

Margaery had fled to Lady Olenna after her encounter with the red woman. Her grandmother had listened patiently and then begun to give her advice. Lady Olenna knew everything in Margery's opinion, even how to deal with her future husband’s whore. 

Lady Olenna had given Margaery one simple piece of advice, which Margaery had taken to heart and intended to use to her full advantage. 

“I will tell you one thing child,” her grandmother had whispered, leaning forward, “If a man receives the best, whether in council or cunt, he wont stray far.”

Loras had overheard and looked appalled at the very suggestion, but Margaery had taken the idea to heart. If her husband were getting something good from this eastern whore, then she would give him something better. 

Margaery was no fool; she knew how to pleasure a man. Her grandmother had encouraged for her from a young age to experiment with different men. She had never approached a man of noble birth. Instead she had spent her time with stable hands and kitchen boys. She learned what men liked; she had learned how to make them burn. Now she would have to put all her knowledge to the test.

She watched her to be husband, and she had her maids watch him when she couldn’t. As far as she could tell there was nothing the red woman did that was particularly different or special. She reasoned it would not be very hard. 

She also threw herself into learning everything she could about the Stormlands. They were so different from the Reach. Where the Reach was always warm and full of joy and laughter, the Stormlands were harsh and cold. It was such a shock to her that she told Lady Lyanna and Queen Cersei the first night that she could not imagine a worse storm then the one that had been raging from several hours. 

Lady Lyanna had laughed for nearly two full minutes, while Cersei had explained that these storms paled in comparison to those of the North, especially around the island of Skaagos. Margaery could not tell if the Queen liked her or not, she didn’t really seem to have any expression on her face other than boredom most of the time. 

Margaery also asked Lyanna everything she could about managing Storm’s End, from what she could tell a steward had been running it since Robert’s death. Lyanna gave her lots of advice about ways to keep the cost down, and the Lords and smallfolk happy. Margaery listened to it all. She would then go and talk over every piece of advice with her grandmother. The old woman would tell her what pieces of information were useful, and which were not. Margaery was rather scared for the inevitable time when her grandmother left, she had taught Margaery everything she knew.

The night before her wedding Margaery went to bed feeling nervous. Both Queen Cersei and Lady Lyanna had told her that they had been far too nervous the night before their own weddings to fall asleep for a while. It only to Margaery a few seconds for her to sink into a peaceful sleep. 

\--

Cersei sat watching the feast in the great hall with a smirk on her face. She had been given a seat at the high table, next to Lyanna, who sat next to Joffrey. The festivities were in full swing; Joffrey was with his young bride on the dance floor, at least for now he seemed to have eyes only for her. Sansa Stark swirled nearby and Cersei took a moment to study the girl. 

She had yet to decide if she thought the Northern girl would make a good match for Aegon. To Cersei she seemed an innocent little dove, someone who would not be able to handle the backstabbing and fighting that accompanied Westerosi politics. 

Cersei was rather enjoying this feast, not because it was particularly pleasant (she couldn’t stand the Tyrell’s), but because her memories of the last feast she had attended her were so good.

She could still remember the smell of Robert as she had danced with him, the way he had leered at her, and not even been subtle when he looked down her bodice.

But he was dead. During that awful dance, Lyanna had poisoned him. Robert had died just a few days later, and Lyanna had fled back to the capital with Cersei.

Cersei shifted her gaze from the dancing couple to the red woman. She stood at the edge of the hall, alone. Joffrey had wanted her at the top table, but Lyanna had vetoed that. The Northern woman could be terrifying when she wanted to be. But the red woman remained in the hall; her eyes had not left the new couple the entire night. Cersei did not trust her, nor her look. She looked like a wolf stalking her prey.

The song ended and Cersei tore her eyes away from the red woman, to applaud the couple. Margaery and Joffrey returned to their seats. 

Cersei leaned back and let her gaze drift back to the red woman. She was surprised to see the woman was staring right back at her, her eyes deep pools. Involuntarily her back straightened and she stared into the woman’s eyes. She fixed a cool relaxed look onto her face and proceeded to stare her down. Fear began to grow in the Queens stomach; the red woman was smirking as if she knew something. Something about Cersei.

"Time for the bedding!" Someone called, and the red woman looked away, moving swiftly from the hall. 

The bride and groom were carried away and Lyanna sat down next to Cersei.

"Takes me back to my wedding," said Lyanna with a smirk.

"One of the saddest things in my life is that I was unable to attend you and Robert’s wedding." 

Lyanna snorted into her wine, "You didn't miss much, trust me."

"Really," said Cersei, smiling, "Robert wasn't your dream? You weren't the blushing bride?"

Lyanna just arched her brow at her friend and shook her head. She took a sip of wine and smiled. "Your wedding on the other hand, now that was an event!"

Cersei laughed, "What was it they called it? The marriage of gold and silver?"

Lyanna giggles, "Yes! I just remember you and Rhaegar couldn't keep your hands off each other!"

Cersei laughed and smiled at her friend, "Tell me Lyanna, why is it you never re-married?"

Lyanna sighed, "After what I went through with Robert, I've decided that I won't marry again unless I'm in love."

Cersei smile, "I hope you get that, you deserve love."

Lyanna smirked, "I have lover Cersei, sadly I cannot have the one I love."

Cersei's brows shot up, "Is he married Lyanna?" 

"No, not married, he just can never wed." Lyanna smiled.

"What do you mean?" Cersei asked, even as she understood. "He’s in the Kingsguard?"

Lyanna nodded. "Who?" Pressed Cersei.

"Ser Arthur Dayne." Lyanna whispered with a smile. 

Cersei giggled, "He is very handsome."

Lyanna nodded, "yes he is, and I am happy being his lover. I don't think I would be happy wed again."

Cersei smiled, happy for her friend. She took her friend’s hand. "If you are happy Lyanna then I am happy for you."

Lyanna squeezed her hand, "thank you Cersei." The two women smiled at each other and turned to watch the dancing as the men returned to the hall.

\----

Margaery wasn’t as innocent as she could have been, but she was still slightly nervous when she strode into the chambers. The Storm lords had wasted no time in divesting her of her gown and smallclothes, and more than a few had gotten a hand in places she preferred were only touched by her husband. But she shook her discomfort off the same way she had the shreds of her gown, and walked into the room bared to him.

And to her. His whore. 

The red woman was lying on the chaise at the foot of the bed like a lap dog might, a sheer robe- red of course- the only covering on her. Somehow it was worse than if she had been naked. She was prepared, this was planned, and that made Margery's blood boil. 

“What are you doing here?” she hissed as the noise of girlish laughter and a few hoots reached them. Her Lord would be arriving soon. “This is my wedding night. My bedding. You are not welcome here.” Melisandre’s eyes were bright as she laughed, the pupils dark and swollen, and Margaery swallowed. 

She rose, the red silk parting to reveal creamy skin and fuller breasts than her own. She would not be jealous, she wouldn’t. “I am well aware what night it is,” she hummed, stepping closer to her. “That is why I am here.”

The room felt hot, the incense cloying, and Margaery thought her head was swimming when Melisandre touched her cheek, the other woman’s skin was hot on her own, sending a chill through her. “What..?” she stammered, suddenly off guard. It was too hot, the woman’s touch was too much, and her gaze she stepped back, reaching for the pitcher of water as Joffrey was shoved through the door. 

It was the first time she had seen her husband undressed- the first time she had seen him as her husband at all- and she smirked. This was what she was familiar with, what she had expected. Joffrey was slight- he would never be as stunningly muscular as Gendry- but he was Baratheon, and quite handsome in his own way. Perhaps not Aeron’s glacial beauty, or his twin’s ruggedness, but she needed to stop thinking of the princes. Joffrey, with his dark hair and light eyes, his mother’s narrow face and his father’s strong jaw, was more than most girl’s got. 

Margaery didn’t settle, she was merely… appreciating the man on display. 

“My Lady,” he hummed, smirking. She would have laughed at that, but she knew better. He hadn’t expected her to shy from him, clearly, and she smirked back, striding over and away from the witch at her back, caressing his cheek. The stable boys had always been too surprised and awed to do much more than gape at his point, but her husband was not a stable boy. He was entitled to her and he knew it, she could feel it in his hands roving her waist as he brought her to him, in the demands of his kiss. 

Joffrey was not gentle in his touch, but Grandmother had said he wouldn’t be. The second set of hands on her, however, was very gentle. She did her best to ignore them at first, but after a moment, when her husband pulled away and started kissing her, Margaery let out an indignant huff.

“Won’t you go?” she sighed, earning her a red-lipped smirk and a glare from Joffrey. 

Her husband took both their hands and led them to the bed. “She stays,” He nearly growled the demand, nodding to the large bed. Margaery felt her heart pick up again, racing as the woman trailed her fingers down her arms, hot against her skin. “What…?” she murmured. Grandmother, Cersei, Lyanna, none of them or anything she had ever heard had prepared her for this. To share her bedding with another woman? Unheard of, improper… not to mention she had no idea how it would play out, or what to expect. 

“Relax,” came Melisandre’s velvety purr, even throatier than Margaery had already heard it. She swallowed thickly as thin fingers wrapped around her wrist, leading her with halting steps to the bed. Everything was red in her vision as they moved, the red of the silk canopy, of the witch’s hair, of her lips, the flush of her chest. Her breath came in harsh pants in time with each kiss the Red Woman placed on her skin. 

And then she was gone, and a cool hand replaced the searing flames of Melisandre's fingers, cupping her breast as if appraising her. A sow for sale, it seemed. She looked up, into the cold blue eyes of her new husband, sparking with a maniacal interest she did not at all enjoy. She let her eyes wander from his face to his torso, along the line of his (moderately) well toned arm to… the hand gripping the Red Woman by the hair, her neck arched back into his grasp, expression one of rapture over sharp distaste.

Margaery awoke then, from the stupor in which she had been in. Starting to understand what was going on, she sat up and took Joffrey’s hand, bringing it to her lips and kissing each fingertip. “What would you like, My Lord?” She smirked, keeping her eyes on him and not on the woman in his grasp. He treated her like a tool, with as much love and care as any blade. Perhaps she would come to. 

He hummed, eyes darkening a deep shade of blue, quickly falling away to blackness. “Lay on the bed,” he ordered her, not so much waiting for her to comply as guiding her up. At some point he had released the witch, but she moved undirected to the foot of the bed, resting her hands on the black silks. Joffrey smirked, and Margaery shivered. “I think you’ll like this, my Lady,” he smirked, and she could feel the mockery in his tone. “Woman,” He nodded, glancing back at Melisandre. “Prepare her for me.”

There was something rather sinister in his tone, but the desire was laden thick there, something she was not at all unfamiliar to, and she clung to that. Her grandmother had been clear that she was to please the Baratheon Lord at any cost. There were no better options for her now. Taking a deep breath, she let her thighs be parted by the Red Woman, hot fingers tracing the taunt and shaking line of muscle up to where thigh met hip. A hot, red mouth followed her fingers, and Margaery bit her lip. “Ah…” she sat up, arms shaking with nerves as she tried to see what the strange woman was doing. “Lady Melisandre… what…”

“Shh,” Joffrey hissed, leaning over and carding his fingers through the Red Woman’s hair like one would a pet dog. “You will enjoy this, wife. And it will make this night much easier if you let her do as she is bid. The Woman has a wicked tongue.”

Margaery flinched, but she was distracted by said tongue tracing the crease of her thigh. It shouldn’t feel so good. It was wrong, another woman’s hands, her mouth no less, on her skin, on her body there, were only her husband was to touch (for at least the first few years, if she followed her Grandmother’s teachings). But she could not deny the way the heat seeping through her skin from the woman’s mouth and hot tongue was pleasant. Until, at least, she moved off her inner thigh. Margaery closed her eyes, although the curtain of blood red hair hid the Woman’s mouth from view. Seeing was hardly the problem. But at least with her eyes screwed shut she did not have to witness the sickening pleasure on Joffrey's face, from her torment and not her pleasure. 

Her thoughts swam in a pleasant fog for moments or hours, leaving her flushed and panting, wet where the Red Woman’s mouth was, but it wasn’t until her center jolted in pleasure that her eyes flew open, lips parted in an open mouth moan. 

“Told you she was wicked,” Joffrey's voice, his breath hot and somehow sticky against her ear, like the wind over Highgarten in the summer. 

She shivered, feeling warm hands spread her legs wider. “My Lord,” she whispered, pained and pleased all at once. “Surely… you do not wish to watch all night?” her last word was jostled from her lips by a moan, no, a yelp of pleasure. The woman between her thighs had found such a spot that her vision seemed to cloud again, her mouth cast open as though by witchcraft. She could feel tight heaviness in her belly, her head swarming with those bees again, and Joffrey’s smile swimming before her vision. 

There was a cry that ripped through the room, high and keening, but surely such a sound could not have come from her? Never would she be so wanton, to ride another woman’s face like a beast in heat. She was a lady, not a tavern whore. 

By the time she came back to herself, the Red Woman was on the chaise by the foot of the bed, lounging naked as if that was what she had been born to do. Perhaps it was. Margaery watched her for a moment, noted the slick sheen on her chin, the way she licked her lips. In her observation, she forgot to look for her husband. 

“Eyes over here, my lady,” he hummed, reaching to cup her cheek in his hand. Cool, but clammy, so different from the woman’s searing grace. 

“Forgive me, husband,” she murmured, doing her best to calm her voice and her racing heart. “But… I was… I find… I am confused.” This was not the bedding she had been expecting, not the night she had been prepared her whole life. 

Joffrey smiled and leaned down, sliding his hands over her chest eagerly, a boy and a man all at once. “You enjoyed it,” he grinned, his hands lower still, fingers clumsy where the Woman’s had been sure. “You screamed so prettily, my lady… and I see you are ready for me.” She expected him to climb on top of her then, to rut like a beast, as she had been taught he would. But instead, he clucked his tongue and smirked. “On your hands and knees,” he drawled, pushing at her hip.

Her husband was no gentleman, then. A beast in man’s clothing, the wolf all little girls were taught to fear when walking in the woods. This was what her grandmother had warned her of, harsh hands on her backside and her thighs, sending tension through her. But she did not prepared her for another woman in the room, joining them in the bed, pressed up between the headboard and her body. Nor the feeling of those searing red lips on her own as her husband clumsily toyed with her, lips which grew more insistent as he entered her. 

The distraction was a blessing, for though she was wet from the Woman preparing her, it burned with a pain she had never felt, never thought she would feel, when he stretched her and never seemed to stop. She whimpered into the Red Woman’s mouth only once though, for weakness was not a quality of a Baratheon, or of a lady. Instead of focusing on the pain, she focused on the thought of being strong enough for her husband. On being strong enough for herself. The slam of his hips into her, the wet press of Melisandre’s mouth over hers, all faded into a thick haze as the night wore on. He spent himself quickly, but he was not done with her.

She didn’t care.


	13. A Bed of Flowers

Sansa Stark rode through the gates of the Red Keep with her hood down and her hair streaming behind her in the wind. She had moved from her great wheel house to the open litter as soon as they had reached the city so she could it pass by her. She looked every inch a proper lady. She wore a simple yet stunning dress of pale blue grey that had great bell sleeves. She had spent hours embroidering tiny grey Dire wolves about the simple scooped neckline and hem. The front of her hair was pulled back off her face in a pair of braids that met at the back and formed into one while the rest of her hair tumbled free. The light caught the shades of red and gold making her look as if her head were aflame.

Several stories above the courtyard Aegon and Cersei watched as Sansa stepped carefully out of the litter and embraced her aunt. Lyanna’s dress was in a pure sky blue and rimmed with gold, her long braid hanging down her back as she hurried forward to greet her niece. Although Sansa was not as openly enthusiastic as her aunt she was relieved to see her.

Aegon leaned on the window sill and watch the two women make their way across the courtyard. Sansa’s red hair stood out against her aunt’s darker shade, yet both were striking.

Aegon shrugged, “She’s pretty enough.” He said

Cersei arched her eyebrows and took his arm, leading him away from the window. “Don’t worry, I am sure she will be a good and dutiful. I have no doubt that she will give you many children. I’m sure you will grow to love her.” Her tone was bored and somewhat cold. 

Aegon turned to face his mother, “I’m not sure that matters.”

“Even if it doesn’t,” his mother responded, once more beginning to lead him down the hall, “She will be a good little Queen I’m sure, once we can break the North out of her. She should have stayed here after your sister’s wedding.”

“You said that would be too obvious.” Aegon reminded her.

“Yes I know.” Cersei started to move again, “Come now, we must go receive Lady Stark.”

\--  
The throne room was filled with light as Sansa entered. She had been here before but never when it was this empty. Only eight people were in the room that normally bustled with the Lords and Ladies of the land courting favor with the King. King Rhaegar sat on the Iron throne leaning against the arm. To his right stood Queen Cersei, her long golden hair flowing over her shoulders and her green eyes narrowed as she watched Sansa. Her red dress ruffled with every little movement, gold dragons embroidered on the shoulders. To the left of the throne stood Aegon and Aerion, both Princes were dressed in black with hints of red. Aerion wore a sword at his belt but neither of the other men did. Sansa blushed when she looked at the Princes, they were two of the handsomest men that she had ever seen, and there was something about them that made them seem like the knights in the stories she had loved growing up. 

At the base of the throne stood four children arranged in order of height. Meera Baratheon stood to the farthest left. She had pulled her hair back into an elaborate braid favored by many women from Pentos. She wore a dress of deep blue trimmed with dark grey, it had a plunging V-neck that exposed her ample cleavage. Next to her stood her younger sister, Edwyn, whose dress was more modest, a pastel blue gown with a simple scooped neckline and gold embroidery. Her long black hair was done up in a half-braid similar to Sansa’s. Rodrick stood next to his older sister in a simple brown jerkin and pants with gold embroidery on the sleeves. He had a certain Baratheon look to him with his strong jaw, dark hair, and blue eyes. Farthest over stood the youngest Baratheon. Anabeth had her mother’s dark hair and her father’s blue eyes. She wore a simple pink dress with gold trimming and her hair hung freely down her back.

Sansa walked the length of the hall clutching Lyanna’s arm. Her eyes were fixed on Aegon, the man she was betrothed to. He was stunning, with his mismatched eyes and Targaryen silver hair. Despite the fact that he was skinnier than his brother, Sansa found him to be beautiful.

They stopped just before the Baratheon contingent. Rhaegar rose to his feet smiling.

“Welcome Sansa of House Stark to Kings Landing!” He proclaimed.

Sansa dropped into a delicate curtsy, “Thank you, Your Grace, for allowing me to come and stay.”

“Of course My Lady, Daena’s family is always welcome here.”

Sansa smiled and thanked him again. Rhaegar excused himself and his sons followed him out of the room.

Queen Cersei smiled at her and walked down to the foot of the dais.

“Welcome Sansa, I hope you will enjoy your time here.” The Queen hummed, her gaze more appraising than welcoming. Sansa expected it, and returned her demure smile, bowing her head slightly. Daena had warned her that her mother demanded more respect than even the King, and she was prepared to bend to her. 

“Auntie Cersei,” Anabeth interrupted, stretching her arms into the air towards the Queen, “Up!”

Sansa was understandably shocked when Cersei smiled and bent down and swept the young girl into her arms without a moment of hesitation. Anabeth wrapped her arms around the Queen’s neck and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you Auntie!” she squealed in delight.

“Rodrick, Edwyn, go with Cersei while Meera and I take Sansa to her rooms.” said Lyanna. The two children fell in on either side of the Queen as she left the hall carrying the youngest Baratheon.

As soon as Cersei had left Sansa rushed forward and embraced Meera. As the two girls broke apart Sansa took Meera’s hand.

“I have never seen the Queen act like that with anyone.” Sansa whispered.

Meera shrugged, “Cersei has always been very kind to us. After father’s death she brought us into her home. She has become attached to all of us, especially the younger ones.”

Sansa couldn’t believe it. She was used to a Queen who was high and proud and rarely showed any real emotion. The idea that she was kind and gentle with young children surprised Sansa. The trio made their way through the castle to the Maiden Vault, where Lyanna had taken up residence. Inside Sansa found a simple yet elegant set of rooms that had been set aside for her use. There was a sitting room which would double as a dining room, a small bed chamber, and a separate room for bathing. Sansa sat down on the bed and looked around the room. The décor was simple, yet beautiful. The windows had small boxes set on the outside filled with flowers. Sansa’s handmaiden was already in the room unpacking her trunks. Lyanna joined her niece on the bed.

“I took the liberty of finding you some new handmaids.” Lyanna said.

“Why?” Sansa asked surprised, “I’m perfectly happy with Kyra.”

“I know, and she will stay.” Said Lyanna smiling at the young girl who was working diligently, pretending she didn’t hear the conversation. “But I have seven handmaidens myself and the Queen has 13, Meera has four of her own. As a proper lady in the south you must have several handmaidens. I have found three other girls who will also be in your service. Don’t worry, I shall pay them myself.” Lyanna smiled at her, and nodded to Meera who opened the door. Three women entered the room in a line.

They stood facing the women on the bed as Meera closed the door and moved to sit on the bed. “Kyra, come sit with us,” said Lyanna, with an affectionate smile. “You can judge these new girls with us.”

Kyra looked nervous about sitting with the ladies but Lyanna made room for her and Sansa nodded her approval so she joined the.

Sansa took in the three girls that faced them. One was tall and a few years older than Sansa. She had short black hair and proud blue eyes that showed smile lines even at her age.

She stepped forward and curtsied a smile on her face. Lyanna introduced her, “This is Mya Stone from the Vale. Her mother was a friend of Robert’s and she has been in the service of Lady Margaery for about five moons, I sent for her a moon ago.” Mya stepped back in line and the next girl stepped forward. She had dark skin and was amazingly beautiful, her height made her even more impressive. “This is Alayaya, she was until very recently one of the women of Chataya’s brothel. She is from the Summer Islands, but she speaks the common tongue well. She is also very skilled in the art of pleasure and will help you prepare for your wedding day.” Alayaya curtsied and stepped back in line. The last girl to step forward was a small blond girl with brown eyes. “This is Myriah Lefford, a distant cousin of the Lannisters of Lannisport, and her father is about 90th in line for Casterly Rock, she is cousin of little importance and Cersei doesn’t even know she exists so you won’t run into any trouble there.” Myriah curtsied and stepped back in line beside the others. “What do you think? Will they do?” asked Lyanna.

Sansa nodded, smiling.

“Good,” Lyanna rose to her feet as did Meera, “Then I will leave you ladies to settle in. Sansa, darling, we won’t expect you till dinner this evening, and Tyrion Lannister is arriving tomorrow and you will be able to fly safety under the radar till he leaves in a moon.”

With that the two Baratheon’s turned and left the room leaving Sansa alone with her handmaids.

\--  
Lyanna and Meera walked out into the gardens to feel a breeze against their faces. A faint smell of salt was carried through the garden to the walls of the castle as the women made their way down toward the ocean, knowing where to find Cersei. The cliffs plunged down toward the ocean and had turned white after years of salt spraying them, and all along their length pavilions were set up.

Cersei chose one back in the trees when she brought the Baratheon children out to play. Here the trees enclosed a small lawn with a patio at one end and a pavilion set up above it. Inside Cersei sat with a glass of wine in her hand watching the three youngest Baratheons play on the grass. They were playing a game that seemed to involve the girls trying to push Rodrick off a chair, but Cersei couldn’t make sense of it. It wasn’t long till Edwyn got bored and made her way to sit with her aunt.

She leaned back against the cushions next to her aunt and picked up a glass of lemon water taking a sip.

“Aunt Cersei?” she asked.

“Yes, sweetling?” asked Cersei.

“When do I get to get married?” asked the girl.

“When you are a woman, sweetling.” Said Cersei

“But who do I get to marry?” she asked.

“What do you mean who? Like to whom you are betrothed?”

“Yes, I mean Meera is marrying that wealthy man from Pentos but who do I get to marry?”

Cersei turned and looked at the young girl. She was so pretty and sweet and young. Cersei remembered being young and dreaming of her marriage. She turned and smiled at the girl. Lyanna had made no secret of the girl’s betrothal and had told Cersei her daughter knew. She wondered if the girl had forgotten.

“Well you are betrothed to Willem Arryn, Lord of the Vale.” Cersei answered.

“Well I know that, but who and I going to marry?” asked Edwyn.

“Edwyn, being betrothed means you are going to get married.” Said Meera as she walked into the pavilion, she walked to her sister’s chair and lifted the girl up, sitting down with her sister in her lap.

Edwyn smiled but hopped off her sister’s lap and walked to another seat carrying her drink in her hand. Meera leaned forward and poured herself some wine, Lyanna arched her eyebrows as she sat down watching her daughter pour wine.

“Meera are you sure you should be drinking?” she asked.

Meera rolled her eyes as she looked at her mother, “I’m 16 mother, I think that is old enough to start drinking.”

Cersei glanced at Lyanna who was watching her daughter nervously. Lyanna worried constantly that one of her children had inherited Robert’s taste for wine. She had worked tirelessly for five years to ensure that her children did not end up like their father. Meera was the only one who was old enough to remember their father at his worst, the other children had been born latter and Lyanna had kept them away from their father. Rodrick, Edwyn, and Anabeth knew nothing of the man their father had been and would grow up to be nothing like him.

Cersei leaned over and squeezed Lyanna’s hand, giving her friend a comforting smile. 

“Meera, Edwyn, why don’t you go join your siblings?” the Queen hummed, her fingers drawing a small circle of comfort on Lyanna’s knuckles.

Meera sighed at being sent away but got up and left anyway with her sister. They went to go join Rodrick and Anabeth who had abandoned their game with the chair and were now making crowns out of flowers which Rodrick did not appear to be enjoying. 

Cersei turned to Lyanna, “She isn’t Robert, dear.”

Lyanna rubbed her hands together, “I know, but I worry, I can’t help it.”

Cersei gripped Lyanna’s hand firmly. “You’ve done a good job with these four, with Gendry too. Don’t worry, Meera remembers her father, she doesn’t want to be like him.” Lyanna nodded looking a little better but clearly not convinced. Cersei however needed to change the subject, “Lyanna, what do you think of your niece?” she asked.

“You mean how easy will Sansa be for you to mold into your perfect version of the next Queen?” Asked Lyanna with a half smirk, “I know you Cersei, and I somewhat know my niece. She idolizes you. She wants to be exactly like you when she’s Queen and she wants everyone to love her.”

“Is she right for Aegon?” asked Cersei.

Lyanna smiled, “She is a good girl and she does what she’s told. She will be a good Queen and a dutiful wife. I doubt she could ever notice a man that wasn’t her husband.”

“But she isn’t strong?” asked Cersei.

“She is strong,” said Lyanna, “in a different way. She isn’t strong like you or I or even like Meera. She has a different strength, a woman's strength.”

“A woman's weakness.” replied Cersei.

“Not always a weakness, sometimes a true strength.” said Lyanna.

Cersei looked out over the children. It was true that women could have a certain strength of their own both in bed and at their husband’s side. Cersei hoped that Sansa had some form of strength in her, one certainly needed it to be Queen. 

She turned and watched the children as they ran back to the pavilion for lunch. The women joined in their laughter and Cersei couldn’t help but smile with joy at the way the younger ones acted. She missed having children that age of her own, but Lyanna’s children were enough to keep her happy. She relaxed back in her chair and enjoyed the day. 

\--

The Red Keep shone on top of Aegon’s hill in the morning light as Tyrion Lannister rode through the city. He was surrounded by Lannister guardsmen glad in halfhelms with lions embroidered on their surcoats and one dog. Tyrion’s legs ached from the riding and his young bride Jenye Westerling was not as skilled as whores at rubbing the soreness from his thighs. Tywin however had insisted that she accompany him. 

Tyrion rode through the main gate to the keep and was not surprised to find his sister and her husband absent. Prince Aegon was also notably absent, but Aerion stood in the yard waiting for him.

The minute Tyrion was down from his horse Aerion pick up his uncle in a bear hug. Tyrion protested as loudly as he could but his nephew only hugged him harder. Eventually Aerion put him down and turned to Jeyne. 

Bowing and kissing Jeyne’s hand Aerion said, “Why Uncle Tyrion, Lady Jeyne is far too beautiful for you. I think I will have to steal her.”

“I would ask that you don’t.” said Tyrion.

Aerion turned and walked over to the hound, “Sandor Clegane!” cried Aerion embracing him, “I’m glad that you’re here! The only real competition around these parts anymore is the Kingsguard and I’m getting bored with them. Hopefully you’ll make for some good fighting.” 

Clegane grunted in agreement before moving off to stable his horse. Nobody else could handle the great beast. When he returned Aerion lead Tyrion to his rooms. He had been set up in rooms near the Godswood. His guards had a small chamber for themselves and other than the main room there was a small room set aside for Jeyne and her ladies as well as a private dining room for the two of them and a grand yet simply adorned bedchamber.

Tyrion looked out at the view of the Godswood just outside his window. Two women were kneeling before the heart tree. One had long black hair and the other a fiery auburn. Tyrion turned away from the window and Sandor moved to look out.

“Nice rooms.” said Clegane.

“Yes very much so, only one bed though. Lady Jeyne, do you mind?” asked Tyrion.

Jeyne shook her head revealing nothing. She was rarely open with Tyrion when others were around and preferred only to speak to him in a manner more than polite unless they were alone. 

Tyrion dismissed the guards and turned pulling himself up onto the bed. Jeyne came and sat down next to him.

“I don’t want to be here, Tyrion.” she murmured.

“Neither do I, but my father wants me to advise the King for him while he sees to some issues back in Casterly Rock. We’ll be here for a moon at most.” 

Tyrion gently took her hand and squeezed it. Then he leaned forward and removed his boots. Jeyne gently began to massage his shins and Tyrion leaned back. He just hoped their time in the capital would be uneventful. 

\--

Sansa walked down the hall toward the Godswood. She had frequented it almost every day since arriving in the capital. She found it relaxing to have a little bit of home. 

Upon entering the Godswood she made her way to the heart tree, kneeling before it and lowering her head in prayer. As she finished a rose to her feet she headed around the tree deeper into the cluster of trees. As much as she loved Kings Landing she couldn't help but sometimes miss Winterfell and the woods that surrounded it.

As she wandered through the trees looking up at the leaves she heard a voice behind her.

"Hello little bird"

Sansa jumped and turned. She was faced with a great hulking man leaning against the tree with his hands folded across his chest. He pushed of the tree and walked towards her. When he got closer the scars on his face were thrown into sharp relief. It was Sandor Clegane, Lord Tyrion's sworn shield. 

"Why are you shaking so little bird?" He murmured, "Do I frighten you that much?"

Sansa shook her head forcing herself to remember her manners. "No Ser, you just surprised me is all."

"I'm no Ser!" He said fiercely and Sansa took a step back out of fear. "Sorry, little bird," he murmured, "I didn't mean to scare you, it's just I'm not a ser."

Sansa breathed deeply knowing that a good lady would finish the conversation. "Why not Ser? Everyone knows of your bravery and strength in battle. You should be a knight to protect the poor and innocent."

"My brother was a knight, did you know that?"

"No Ser, I didn't"

"Well he is. Do you think he protects the weak and innocent?" Sansa nodded, but Sandor shook his head. "Don't be naive little girl. He hurts the weak and innocent. He did this to me." He jabbed his finger at his scars.

For the first time Sansa forced herself to look at his scars they covered an entire cheek and pulled his face unattractively. Yet at the same time he was handsome. The unscarred side of his face was strong yet beautiful and his eyes had a tenderness to them. Without thinking Sansa reached up and ran her hand over his scars. 

Sandor tensed under her touch. He watched her, the gentleness in her blue eyes. The way her hair still shown under the shadow of the trees. She seemed to realize what she was doing and pulled her hand away quickly. She folded her hand in front of her and looked down avoiding his gaze. 

"Don't worry little bird, I won't tell anyone we were here together." Sandor told her.

Sansa looked up, "I'm not embarrassed Ser."

Sandor shrugged, "I know, I just don't want to hurt your reputation, I doubt gossip is something you want going around about you."

Sansa blushed, and lifted her head to meet his gaze, "Thank you se-Sandor." She turned and walked away but paused after a few feet and turned to face him. "Why do you call me little bird?" She asked. 

Sandor looked embarrassed, “I heard you singing in the Sept yesterday, you sounded like a bird with a sweet song in its heart." 

Sansa blushed before turning and hurrying away toward the keep. 

\--

Sansa found herself returning to the Godswood every day in search of Sandor and every day he was there, waiting. Each day Sansa would wander deeper into the woods and each day he would be there waiting for her. They never talked for very long, but Sansa felt a growing connection to the man. 

He told her of his brother, the way he liked to hurt people, and his recent death. She told him of her family and how she longed to be like one of the maidens in a song. Sandor always reminded her that the world wasn’t a song and that most people’s lives ended in pain, yet she refused to believe him. 

A week after their first meeting she came to the wood in a dress of deep blue with tiny flowers embroidered all over it. Her hair was free and tumbled about her shoulders. Without meaning to she had dressed in one of her best gowns, other than those she reserved for feasts and dances. 

Tonight there would be a feast to welcome the guests to the Red Keep and Sansa planned on looking the best she could.

As she entered the Godswood Sansa was met with a surprise. The Godswood was not empty but instead five other women were already there. 

Queen Cersei stood closest to the entrance next to Lyanna. Lyanna’s three daughters were all knelt in prayer in front of the heart tree. Sansa stepped over the threshold and cleared her throat. Lyanna and Cersei turned to look at her and Sansa was grateful that she had thought to bring two of her maids with her as she, Kyra, and Mya dipped into curtsies. 

“Your Grace, Aunt Lyanna, I did not think to find you here.” said Sansa.

Lyanna smiled warmly. “I think it is important for my daughters to remember that they are at least partly Northern at all times. I bring them every now and then to pray at the heart tree.”

Sansa smiled but she found herself at a loss for words in the Queen’s presence, luckily Lyanna intervened. 

“Cersei, if you don’t mind I would like some private time to speak with my niece.” said Lyanna as she took Sansa’s arm and lead her along one of the paths that threaded through the woods. Kyra and Mya fell in behind her keeping a few paces back.

“Tell me child, what do you plan on wearing to the feast tonight?” asked Lyanna.

“A blue gown with high shoulders and no sleeves.” answered Sansa. She had never worn the dress before and looked forward to debuting it. 

“Good,” said Lyanna, “Sansa, dear, there is something I must tell you.” Lyanna stopped and turned to face her. “Over the next month Cersei and Rhaegar will be watching you. They are looking to see if you will be a good Queen. You must make sure that you do not slip up and that you do whatever you are told.” Lyanna fixed her with a hard, grey gaze. “You must be the best you can, and if you prove satisfactory, then you will be officially betrothed to Aegon and you will be his Queen. Do you understand?” Sansa nodded, “Good, then go back to your room and prepare for the feast.”

Sansa nodded before turning and walking back through the trees. She went back to her room as fast as she could without looking nervous and by the time she was there she had sorted through all the different looks in her head and decided on exactly the right hair and dress for the feast. 

She entered her rooms and gave swift orders. Myriah and Alayaya hurried to prepare her bath while Mya and Kyra undressed her. By the time Sansa was relaxing in the bath while Mya washed her hair Kyra had already set to work setting out her gown. 

Sansa had picked the perfect outfit for the occasion. She had selected a pale blue gown with high structured shoulders and no sleeves. She wore a gray corset and gray small cloths with it. Her shoes were made of delicate gray silk. As her maids dressed her Sansa couldn’t help but run her fingers along the smooth silk of the fabric and marvel at the tiny seed pearls that ran up both sides in the form of tiny clasps. She had also embroidered tiny direwolves on each shoulder in dark gray thread. As she turned to face herself in the mirror that stood by her dresser Sansa couldn’t help but think that she truly looked the part of a Queen for the first time. 

Alayaya did her hair. Pulled the front away from her face and braided it, winding it into a circle on the back of her head. The rest fell away freely down Sansa’s back past her lower back to her bum. Sansa spun in front of the mirror and watched her skirts swirl and her hair flow behind her. She was ready for whatever the night may bring.

\--  
When Sansa entered the grand ballroom the feast was already set out. The King and Queen had not yet arrived but the Princes already had. Sansa was set next to Prince Aegon to the King’s right. Her Aunt was seated on her other side, and just beyond her sat Meera. Rodrick and Anabeth had been deemed too young for the feast but Edwyn had also been seated at the high table although she sat on the far side of the table next to Lady Jeyne. The King and Queen entered to a great roar of approval. Both wore red and black with the King in more black and the Queen more red. 

The meal was a blur. Sansa was aware of conversing politely with Aegon and her Aunt and of splendid foods placed in front of her, but none of it seemed to register. All she could do was watch the splendor. Everyone wore the finest cloth and had the most elaborate hair. The dishes when delivered to the King for approval were a feast for the eye in shapes and color. As the feast continued she drank glass after glass of wine, allowing it to flow into her blood and loosen her usual nervousness. Finally the fruit was served and the people filed into the center of the hall and watched as the King and Queen prepared to dance. Aegon stood and took Sansa’s arm, leading her onto the floor next to his parents. Aerion did the same with Jeyne. 

The dance was graceful and proper, but all Sansa could see were the mismatched eyes of the Prince. Up close she couldn’t decide if they were beautiful or terrifying, she felt oddly disoriented by them. After the first dance others poured onto the dance floor. Aerion asked Sansa for a dance and for a while time blurred. She must have danced with every man in the Keep. She couldn’t help it, she had always loved to dance.

Yet in her mind none of them really registered, not even the Prince. They were all just a passing moment in a beautiful night.

Eventually the room began to move in circles and Sansa turned down her next offer and returned to her seat. Aegon was still on the dance floor as were the King, Queen, Aerion, Lyanna, and Meera. Edwyn and Lord Tyrion were conversing at the far end of the table so Sansa sat back and watched the room.

“You dance well little bird.”

Sansa jumped and turned to find Sandor Clegane standing behind her. He wore no armor and she realized that he was wearing his house crest which she had never seen him wear before. He had reversed the colors so he wore all black except for three yellow dogs embroidered across his chest. 

He moved to stand to the right of her chair, his hand resting on its back. 

“Thank you Ser.” Sansa murmured. 

“What do you think of a royal ball, little bird?” asked Sandor.

Sansa sighed, “It’s beautiful, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more vibrant.” She smiled happily.

Sandor looked at her in that blue gown with her cheeks flushed and her eyes lit up in wonder. Without meaning to he spoke. 

“Would you like to dance?”

Sansa looked at him and smiled. She had danced with almost everyone else and felt it would be rude not to dance with him. She accepted and he led her onto the floor.

A new song was starting, a faster song that didn’t involve a lot of bowing or curtsying and did have a lot of spinning. Sandor slipped his arm easily around her tiny waist and swept her into the dance. Sansa smiled and for the first time that night she truly laugh out loud. Sansa clung to him and got lost in his eyes. 

They were so strong and at first Sansa had thought them scary. Yet as they danced his eyes changed. They became more silver than gray, the hard edges that had been there before softened and round. Sansa felt as if she were falling through his eyes and into a different world. A world where all that existed was this moment, this dance.

Then the song ended and Sansa was forced to step back from Sandor. The hardness was returning to his eyes and the people were appearing around them. Sansa forced herself to curtsy and then politely excused herself from the feast, saying she was tired and needed to rest.  
As she fled the hall Sansa realized that Sandor was the only man she remembered for sure dancing with other than the Prince. She felt she only really remembered the Prince because he had been the first she danced with. 

Sansa hurried down the hall to scared to look back, yet instead of making her way toward the Maiden Vault she ran to the Godswood. When she got there the wood was nearly pitch black as the trees cast shadows obscuring what little light came from the stars and moon. 

Sansa knelt before the heart tree and began to pray. At first she prayed as she would in the Sept, for the strength to overcome her feelings for Sandor, to be a good girl and to prepare to be a good Queen. Then the prayer changed, instead she started to pray that Sandor would find happiness. Over the past week Sansa had truly began to care for the man with all her heart and so she prayed that he would find happiness in the world. Then she prayed for her own happiness. At first she prayed she would be happy as Queen but somehow that didn’t feel right so she changed to just happiness in general. She prayed that the old gods would send her the happiness she sought so much. Last of all she prayed for guidance over the coming months and years. When she finished she stayed there with her head bent forward, after a few minutes she realized she was crying. 

“Little bird?” a soft voice came through the trees.

Sansa rose swiftly wiping her tears away. She turned to the trees from which the voice had come. Sandor stepped out of the shadows and walked towards her.

“Why are you crying little bird?” He asked, gently running his thumb over her cheek wiping away her tears in a sure strong movement. Sansa lowered her head, scared to look at him. “Why Sansa?” he asked again.

Sansa blushed as he used her real name, which he had never used before. “I’m crying because... I’m sad.” she whispered.

“Why are you sad?” asked Sandor, lifting her chin so their eyes met.

“I’m sad because,” Sansa paused, “I’m sad because I love you.”

The tears began again and Sansa looked away attempting to hide her face and her fear from him. Sandor turned her head back to look at him. In the shadows of the trees his eyes shone. 

“Then don’t cry.” he murmured before he kissed her.

Sansa lost all sense of self and for the next few hours she knew nothing but Sandor and the pleasure he was giving her. All Sansa knew was that he wanted her and she wanted him and when she was in his arms none of the rest of the world seemed to matter. All she needed was him, forever.

It was past midnight when Sansa came to her senses. She was lying on top of Sandor completely naked with a dull ache between her thighs. Sansa shot upright and looked at the man lying beneath her, he had a soft smile playing along his lips. Sansa pushed herself away from him as fast as she could scrambling to her feet. 

She couldn’t believe what she had just done, everything she wanted could be gone right now in this night. Sansa panicked and quickly found her clothes. She slipped into them and fled before he could awaken. 

Sansa fled down the hall to her room, luckily nobody was there to see her. Reaching her room she collapsed onto her bed and cried herself to sleep. 

\--

Kyra, Alayaya, Mya, and Myriah found Lady Sansa still in her ball gown when they came to wake her the next morning. All four girls could see that she had been crying and without a word they all knew what to do. 

Quickly the girls prepared a bath and found lavender and other oils to fill the bath water and relax the young girl. Kyra was the one who tiptoed forward and gently woke Sansa telling her that they had a bath ready for her. Sansa nodded rubbing her eyes and seemed not to notice the girls and they lead her toward the bathtub and stripped her, lowering her down into the water. 

When Sansa settled in they had all already seen the blood between her thighs and all the ladies maids understood instantly what had happened.

Kyra sat down on the edge of the bath and took Sansa’s face in her hands. “Sansa you need to tell me now and tell me true. Did whatever man you were with last night force himself on you?”

Sansa looked up at her ladies maids and knew there was no use lying to them. She knew that Kyra and Alayaya had both been whores before coming into her service and the way Mya and Myriah talked it was clear that neither girl was a maid.

Sansa shook her head.

Kyra nodded, “Alright, and was it Prince Aegon?”

Once more Sansa shook her head, then she burst into tears all over again. Kyra pulled her into an embrace and the other girls quickly gathered around rubbing Sansa’s back and arms.

“He’ll know,” Sansa whispered through her tears, “He’ll know I’m not a maid on my wedding night and he’ll send me back, he’ll kill me or annul our marriage or worse.” Sansa was shaking, fear overwhelming her.

“Like hell he will.” Said Alayaya firmly. She knelt so she was on level with Sansa and lifted her chin so she was looking in her eyes. “There are ways to fake your virgin blood, and on top of that you have two whores in your service, we can teach you how to moan like it’s your first time.” The other girls nodded briskly and all set about ensuring Sansa that Aegon would never figure anything out. Within the hour Sansa was convinced of this and her maids were washing her hair and laying out her clothes as if it were a normal day. 

When Sansa washed the tears from her eyes and the blood from her thighs and looked at herself in the mirror when she was fully clothed in a gown of pure white, she could almost believe that everything would be alright.

\--

Three weeks had passed since that night, three weeks in which Sandor had not been able to get a moment alone to talk with her. She went everywhere with a handmaiden now, more often than not there were two dogging her steps. She stopped praying the Godswood and now only went to the sept to pray. She did not dine without at least one of her Baratheon relations present. At least once a week he had seen her walking with Aegon Targaryen, the perfect crowned prince, and every time he felt his blood burn. 

By the end of the third week he had given up. She had fled his rooms and clearly forgotten all about their night, or she desperately wanted to and Sandor was done dwelling on it.

That was until she came to him as he was walking through the gardens looking over the cliffs for the last time and thinking of how much more intimidating the cliffs at the Rock were.  
Sandor was staring at the sea when he heard a small cough behind him. He didn't feel like engaging in small talk so he ignored it. However it was coughs again and hen Sandor still refused to respond.

"Sandor may I speak to you for a minute?"

Sandor tensed and turned to face the little bird who was standing behind him flanked by two of her ladies maids. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the stone wall taking her in. She was still stunning, even more so than she had been before. It hurt him to look at her.

"What do you want?" He snarled. 

Sansa looked taken aback but took a step forward, "We need to talk..."

"Then talk." He snarled unable to contain his anger. She had been so willing to fall into his arms the night of the feast but she had fled before he had woken and had avoided him ever since.

Sansa took a step forward clearly unsure of how to start. He was aware that both of the other women were glaring at him.

"Sandor..." Sansa began again, "Sandor... I'm with child."

Sandor froze his gaze fixed on her face. She was starting to cry, her whole body trembling. Without thinking he stepped forward and wrapped his arms protectively around her. She clung to him, her tiny fingers working their way into his doublet.

Sandor’s voice was gruff as he spoke, “Have you considered losing the babe?”

Sansa shook her head, “I thought about it. But it’s too difficult at this point. I should have drunk moon-tea that night. I’m such a stupid girl.”

Sandor took her face in his hands, “No, don’t ever say that, you are the most amazing person I know, little bird, don’t cry.” Once more he wiped her tears away. “Does your aunt know?” She shook her head, “The King and Queen?” She shook her head, “Prince Aegon?” Her downcast eyes gave him all the answer he needed.

“I came to you first,” she murmured. “I thought the f-father should know first.”

Sandor smiled. Without thinking he reached down and took her hand in his as he began to lead her back through the gardens. She resisted, clearly hesitant to go. 

Sandor turned and smiled at her, “Come little bird, we must tell them.”

Sansa nodded and the fear came back into her eyes, but she followed him anyway.

\--

Lyanna leaned back in her chair watching Cersei’s face closely. Sandor’s eyes had yet to leave Rhaegar, Aegon and Sansa were locked in some kind of death stare, but Lyanna knew they were looking at the wrong person. Cersei was the one to be feared in this moment.

Lyanna had known her niece had been with someone the night of the ball. She had thought the girl would have had the good sense to protect her virginity, or at least to drink moon tea, the girl did have two former whores as handmaids for a reason. 

Yet Sansa Stark was sitting across from her now having just announced that she was pregnant with Sandor Clegane’s child. 

Cersei spoke first, “You dumb little whore!” It came out as more of a roar than anything else, Cersei would always be the lion. “We take you into our home, promise you to our son, the prince, give you wealth and jewels and a future, and this is how you repay us?”

Sansa looked down clearly terrified but Lyanna didn’t miss the way Sandor moved to protect her. 

“Cersei…” said Lyanna.

“What?” the Queen hissed rounding on her with venom in her eyes.

“What did I tell you when we first met?” asked Lyanna.

Cersei blushed a deeper red than her gown. “You told me of your marriage.”

“And what specifically about my marriage?” Cersei only glared, “I told you that all women were slaves. That we were forced to marry whomever we wanted, and be our husbands’ pets.” Cersei folded her arms, her expression never changing. “I think young Sansa hear has found a way to break that mold.”

“She broke a marriage contract!” the Queen hissed.

Lyanna leaned forward, “But you already gave your daughter to the North. You have no further need to ally with them. What does this marriage do for you strategically? Nothing.” Lyanna glanced at Rhaegar and saw that he understood. “Not only that, but this now frees up to marry Aegon to somebody more strategic.”

Cersei remained standing glaring around the room until Rhaegar spoke. “She’s right Cersei.” His wife turned to glare at him, but Rhaegar only sighed, “We don’t gain anything from this marriage. It would be better to marry Aegon to someone from another one of the major houses or another region rather than ally ourselves with Winterfell all over again.” Cersei looked like she was going to slap her husband. It was clear she didn’t want to admit he was right. “Not only that,” the King continued, “But this betrothal was never made public. Nobody will know that there is a broken engagement, there will be no shame on our family or on our son because of this.”

Cersei continued to glare at Rhaegar but it was clear he was done discussing the issue. The Queen turned and stormed out of the room, pulling Aegon with her. The boy had remained silent throughout the exchange and Lyanna wanted desperately to know what he thought. 

Rhaegar turned to look at Sansa and Sandor. “We’ll have the wedding in the Godswood tomorrow, you had best be there if you wish to avoid any further shame.” The King turned and left.

Sansa looked weak, so Lyanna moved to sit next to her, taking her hands. “You can have your room in the Maidenvault for the next year until you give birth.” Sansa nodded, “I’m afraid that Sandor will have to return in a week to the rock with Lord Tyrion. Sansa you will go to join him when the baby is born.”

Lyanna then rose and left the room leaving the young couple alone. She was glad that the mountain had died a few months ago of an infected battle wound. At least Sansa would have a home to live in and lands to pass on to her children. She headed down the hall in search of her own children. She would have to remind them again of the importance of not getting too drunk to ensure they did not follow in Sansa’s footsteps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry it took so long to post, we were busy with graduation and family affairs! We promise all posts will be on time after this!


	14. Lost in Sight of Vision

Arianne Martell had married for love. Of all the things the princess of Dorne had done that many laughed at, that was the first. She had married a man of lower birth and of little wealth. It was an insult to her family and to her station, or at least, that was how it appeared to those outside Dorne.

But to the Dornish it was a great act of love. Her husband was one of the most loved men in Dorne and on of their best warriors. He was the bastard of Godsgrace, Daemon Sand, now and her lord husband. He was known throughout the desert kingdom as a kind and good man, who loved his wife and daughter fiercely and would do anything to protect them. 

Their daughter, Tyene Martell, favored her mother’s looks. She was small and slight with olive skin and the most glorious dark black hair that curled down her back. She was only 14 years old and yet men always seemed to watch her with unconcealed lust in their eyes. Tyene didn’t fear them, for she knew that none of them would touch her without her permission and she knew that should any of them try to her mother would have her revenge. 

Tyene however lacked one thing of great importance to her at present time, her sea legs. She rocked back and forth as she headed down the center of the ship, slipping several times as she made her way toward her mother. Arianne felt perfectly at ease on board the ship, unlike her daughter, and was standing halfway down the ship at the rail, watching the waves.

The Princess let out a little laugh as Tyene reached her, “Come now, child, it’s not that hard to walk on a ship.”

Tyene glared at her mother, “Maybe for you, but I have never been on a boat before, you cannot expect me to master it right away.”

Arianne shook her head and smiled, “You can throw knives and swing a sword nearly as well as your father but you cannot walk on a boat. I must say I am a little confused about that.”

The girl shrugged, “I’m not perfect mother, despite what you may think.” She paused and looked around the ship, rubbing her arm nervously “Mother, I’m worried,” She murmured.

Arianne looked at her out of the corner of her eye, “You’ve never been to Kings Landing before have you?”

She shook her head.

Arianne nodded and turned to face her daughter. “I won’t lie to you child, we are on our way to a very dangerous place. I would not do not trust a single person at court who is not from Dorne, and I have no desire to stay there for an extended period of time, let alone to live there”

Tyene sighed, “But once I’m married I won’t be able to come back home will I.”

Arianne shook her head; “The Targaryen’s have made it very clear that they want you and Aerion where they can care for you. They want you to stay in the capital until you have a child. Of course, the minute you have I child I will arrange for your passage out of the capital. The faster you are with child the faster you will be home.”

She sighed looked out across the water, “The faster I can stop being a hostage you mean.” She muttered under her breath, but her mother heard her and smiled. Neither of them were under any illusions as to why the King and Queen wished for Tyene to remain in the capital with her husband. Something had been nagging at Tyene for several days now, and finally taking a deep breath, she voiced her fear. “What if I don’t have a child?” She asked, “I’m only fourteen, I know you were the same age but I can't help being worried. I don’t think I want to be a mother right now, I don’t know if I could handle it”

“I know, and if I had it my way you would wait a few more years before you got married, but the King and Queen are looking to marry off their sons as fast as possible.” She smirked, clearly amused by something that Tyene did not understand.

Tyene looked up at her mother, “But why?”

A small smile played across the princess’s lips. “Well if my spies are correct, Sansa Stark broke a secret marriage contract between herself and the crown prince by laying with another man, specifically Sandor Clegane, a sworn sword of Tyrion Lannister. They want their other son married before you can give them a similar scandal.”

Tyene laughed, “The bigger scandal is marrying me into the royal family, I take after your cousins and uncle more than anyone else.” She turned and watched the waves for a few moments in silence before speaking. “Then who will be marrying the other prince, mother?”

Arianne looked out across the waves and shrugged, “I don’t know, and I doubt the King and Queen have any idea either.”

\--  
Loras Tyrell was one of the most beautiful girls that Cersei had ever seen. Her curly brown hair was rather common but her eyes were stunning. They were golden and had tiny flecks of green. Nobody who looked into those eyes could help but be entranced by the girl, and when she smiled they lit up like a thousand stars.

Cersei looked her over again from her perch on the edge of the balcony. While her elder sister favored low cut tight green bodices that exposed far too much for any proper lady, her little sister Loras favored simple dresses that clasped in the front and opened below her belly button to reveal a complementary underskirt. Her capped sleeves always exposed delicately tanned arms.

Cersei watched as the girl made her way through the courtyard a floor below her before turning back to her husband.

“I just worry about how a girl who is that timid will survive this place.” Cersei was continuing an argument that they had been having for several days. Ever since a year ago when the wedding arrangement with the Stark girl had been broken Rhaegar was desperate to find a new bride for the prince. Tyene Martell had already been called to the capital to marry Aerion, and now they need to formally announce a bride for their older son, fast. The capital had been flooded recently with almost every noble family with a girl between the ages of 12 and 30 trying to make a match with the Crown Prince. 

Of all the prospective matches, Rhaegar had picked the second Tyrell daughter, who was far more beautiful than her recently wed sister, but also far quieter. Cersei had been worrying for days about what the capitol would do to a girl like that, it would most certainly not be good.

Rhaegar shook his head in exasperation, “Cersei you’re being ridiculous. Let’s face it; that girl grew up with two older brothers, not to mention that sister and grandmother of hers. She is a Tyrell, whether or not we like it she has been raised on politics.”

Cersei crossed to room to stand directly in front of her husband with her hands on her hips. “I’m telling you this place will destroy her. Just look at her! She’s so young, and she doesn’t have the claws- or thorns- to make it here!”

“And I’m telling you that she’s the right choice. We need her family tied to us, they are the second richest family, they have the best farmlands, tactically, and they are the best choice.”

Cersei walked away from her husband wringing her hands before finally turning and looking at him. She knew he was right, had known it for a while, but she didn’t want to admit it to him, “Fine! But we will wait at least two years before the wedding. The girl is only thirteen!”

Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders in consent.

“And,” Cersei added, “I want her to stay here at court where I can teach her what a Queen should know and so that her and Aegon can at least get to know each other.”

Rhaegar nodded again, before he smiled. “I’m guessing you also want to keep her away from that grandmother of hers, goodness knows what she’ll do when she learns of this engagement. I’ll arrange for a meeting with Willas, he’s Mace’s heir and is staying in the capitol. He can sign the agreement for his father.”

She nodded and turned making her way to her other balcony which overlooked the gardens. Below she could see Sansa Clegane sitting in the shade of a great tree holding her baby Cella. Loras was sitting next to them and moving her hand in front of the child’s face to amuse it. As much as Cersei fumed at the Stark girl for breaking the marriage she had to admit that Loras would be a beautiful bride and she appeared to have no problem with children. In the next two years Cersei was hopeful she could mold her into a capable and confident Queen.

\--  
Rhaegar sat in his solar reclining in a large chair sipping wine. Across from him was a simpler empty chair that would hopefully soon hold Willas Tyrell. Rhaegar knew that had there been any other Tyrell here, Willas would not have come. The Tyrell’s were all social climbers; with the exception of the young man he was about to meet with. Rhaegar was very happy to be meeting with the only sensible Tyrell. Hopefully he would act to benefit his younger sister. The hand of a prince was very rare for a younger daughter, though even Cersei had admitted to the young girl’s beauty, which meant she was stunning indeed.

The door opened and the page entered announcing the arrival of Tyrell. The man himself walked in shortly after. He had the classic curly brown hair that seemed to accompany all the Tyrell’s yet his eyes, although brown like a Tyrell, had much more of an educated look to them, as if they were thinking deeply at all times. He walked with a cane due to his injured leg and yet as Rhaegar rose to greet him he waved him aside.

“Please your Grace, there is no need for formalities and I must meet my sister for dinner soon.”

Rhaegar sat and observed the man, he liked that he didn’t follow traditional customs. “When do you and your sister depart for the Reach my Lord?”

“After the wedding your Grace, though I am hoping to find her a husband before we leave.”

Rhaegar examined the man, “But she is rather young isn’t she? Only 13 years.”

“Yes she is younger, but my dear grandmother,” he said the name with a faint sneer, “Is rather insistent that she should at least be betrothed, with Margaery’s recent marriage Olenna and Mace are looking to expand our influence even more.” The Tyrell’s voice was dripping sarcasm. Clearly he didn’t think his family was in need of any more influence. 

Rhaegar laughed. This conversation was going where he wanted without him even having to direct it. “Well, it was actually your sisters marriage that I wanted to discuss with you.” Willas arched an eyebrow. “You see as you know our son Aerion is getting married soon, and Cersei and I are hoping to see our last child at least betrothed not long after.”

Willas was glad he had such a good poker face, and he kept it as blank as he could, only continuing to arch a single eyebrow. “Are you suggesting, your Grace, that Loras marry Aegon? The Crown Prince?”

Rhaegar shrugged, “I am, if you are here to get her a husband than you can sign the marriage contract. Cersei has even requested that she stay at court to learn what her life would be like and to get to know her betrothed.”

Willas was in complete shock. Loras was the younger sister and as a result they had been expecting a marriage lower than Margaery’s, and this was completely unexpected. It would mean that the Tyrell’s would have Queen and later a King. There was no way he could refuse. If he did both his father and grandmother would eat him alive. Though he would have preferred to give Loras to some kind Reach lord, or even a Dornish man (Oberyn had written with several suggestions), he had to admit that Loras would make a good Queen. 

“You had better get a contract drawn up.” He said reclining in his chair and smiling. Rhaegar smiled too.

\--  
Loras Tyrell was playing with Sansa’s baby under the trees in the gardens of the Red Keep. She kept her hair swept out of her face in a simple half up style to ensure that Cella Clegane didn’t pull it, again. 

She had grown up surrounded not only by older siblings but also by the sons and daughters of various families from about the Reach. Her dearest friend was Alla Tyrell who was a cousin and had always been at her side. Alla was in Kings Landing with Loras and both girls had the same mission, find a husband. The problem was they were both rather shy and preferred to spend their time with Lady Clegane, whom they had quickly befriended, than with anyone else. At dinner each night the girls had been placed next to eligible Lords but neither had been content with any. Loras knew that Alla was in love with the son of a wealthy man of Braavos she had met two years ago in Old Town and that the two were maintaining a correspondence, but she would never spill her secret. He would come to King’s Landing soon to request her hand.

Loras wished that she could find a husband as easily as her sister and be as happy as Sansa, who had married for love, yet she doubted either would happen. She was a rather shy girl and although she knew she was pretty she felt uncomfortable in her own skin and tended to blush a lot.

“Loras!”

She raised her head to see her brother striding toward her down the path. He reached to two women and gave a quick bow.

“If you don’t mind Lady Clegane, I need to walk with my sister for a bit.”

Sansa smiled and rose, “It is no problem my Lord, I should take Cella inside soon anyway, I don’t want the heat to get to her.”

Willas nodded and bowed again to Sansa. Once he had left he took his sister by the arm and led her into the gardens. After a short time he dropped her elbow but continued to walk until they were deep in the gardens and had come to a small patio with a fountain bubbling up in the middle.

Willas walked to a bench in the sun and took a seat, patting the spot next to him. Loras swiftly sat down.

Her brother did not speak for a minute but appeared lost in his own thoughts. Loras did not disturb him, but sat looking at the fountain. Finally her brother broke the silence.

“Tell me sister, what do you think of King’s Landing?”

“Well,” she paused, considering her answer carefully, “I like Baelor’s Sept, how beautiful it is, and I like the majesty of the Red Keep. I enjoy all the different sights and smells in the city, and everything that I can see and buy and do.” She smiled, “I...like it rather a lot.”

Willas nodded, “And would you like to live here?”

Loras smiled a little, “Yes... I think I would. I do enjoy court, though I know I’m not Margaery. I didn’t spend all my time with Grandma, but I learned from her and I do enjoy the politics, watching it if not playing a part.”

Willas gave her a long and calculating look before he continued to speak, “Would you like to play the game?”

This gave Loras pause. “I don’t know, why are you asking?”

Willas took a deep breath, “Loras not long ago I… I signed your marriage contract.”

Loras gasped. She gripped the arm of the bench struggling to breath for a few seconds, until finally she was able to draw enough breath to ask, “To whom, might I ask?” Although giving her brother’s questions she had a feeling that she knew whom. 

Willas looked at his hands a little embarrassed, “That’s just the thing. You are to wed Aegon Targaryen, the Crown Prince of the Seven kingdoms.”

Loras turned to stare at her brother for a second, than a tiny smile formed on her lips.

“So you like the match?” inquired her brother.

She shrugged, “I don’t know the man that well. I know that he is six years my senior and very handsome.” Her smile grew, “I’m happy because I’ve beat Margaery.” Then she threw her head back and laughed for real. After a few seconds Willas joined her. They sat like that till the laughing died, but the mirth still glittered in both their eyes.

Willas turned to his sister, “So you really aren’t mad at me?”

Loras shook her head, “How could I? I am going to be a Queen and my son will be a King and Margaery will have to be nice to me and bow before me and pretend that she is happy for me for the rest of her life! I couldn’t be happier.” Then she gave her brother a hug and asked the other question she had, “May I tell people?”

Willas shook his head, “You, Me, Queen Cersei, King Rhaegar, and Prince Aegon will be the only people who know. It will be announced a few days before Prince Aerion and Tyene Martell’s wedding.”

Loras nodded and gave her brother another hug, “Thank you.” She whispered in his ear again.

\--

The gardens of the Red Keep were known for their beauty. They held many different plants and something was always in bloom. As Tyene wandered through she couldn’t help but stare at the winter roses that had recently come into full bloom. She shivered again and pulled the slim clock she was wearing a little closer to herself.

The sound of the sea drifted through the trees along with another noise that made Tyene pause. Somewhere not far away someone was practicing swordplay.

She hastily moved toward the sound and as she drew closer she came upon what appeared to be a large open green used for practicing. In the middle there were two men sparring.

One appeared to be about 5’10 and had on the simple white armor of the King’s Guard. He was losing to the other man, who was tall, at least 6’3, although she couldn’t quite tell from where she stood. His armor was black and although it had no design on it, it had been polished so it shone. She watched as he effortlessly beat the man he was fighting three more times, than the shorter man saw her.

He held up his hand and the other man took a pause, moving to a table set with water and pouring himself a drink. The other man removed his helm and waved Tyene forward. When Tyene saw his face she gasped.

The knight smiled, “Am I really that scary, my Lady?” asked Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.

Tyene stepped forward and smiled, quickly curtsying before she answered. “No, it’s only that you bear a remarkable similarity to your sister and nephew, Ser Arthur.”

The Knight smiled, “And you Lady Tyene have the look of your mother and grandmother. Tell me how is Dorne?”

“Peaceful as always, the children play in the Water Gardens and the knights race across the sand, it is perfect.”

The Knight laughed and was about to proceed when the other man called out from behind him, “Arthur, I hope you are not talking the young Lady’s ear off!”

Arthur chuckled and turned to the other man, “No my Prince, but come and meet our guest.”

The other man walked toward the two Dornish people. He had removed his helm and Tyene was struck by his looks almost instantly. He was tall with a strong jaw and short silver hair. Tyene noted his eyebrows, they were darker than his hair and seemed rather intense. His eyes, however, were to her the most fascinating; one was emerald green, the other lilac purple. The glittered with something she couldn’t quite place, it had a bit of mirth in it, but there was something else there.

Arthur smiled as he reached them, “Prince Aerion, may I present to you Lady Tyene of House Martell.”

Aerion looked down at the woman who stood before him. She was about a foot shorter than he, as his eyes traveled further down he noticed she was slim but with large breasts. He cast his gaze back up to her face and found delicate olive skin. Her eyes were deep pools of darkness that matched her long dark curly hair. Aerion smiled and licked his lips. His betrothed was rather attractive.

Tyene was also assessing the Prince. He was about a foot taller than she and had large muscles; the way his armor was made was proof enough of that. His hair was shorn close to his head in a rather un-Targaryen-like fashion. She couldn’t stop looking at his eyes. The different colors were both startling and rather attractive. As she watched his gaze travel down her body she didn’t shift, nor did she blush or lower her gaze. She may be a maiden but she was not inexperienced. When he once more returned to her face she watched him lick his lips. In response she simply arched an eyebrow.

At this point Ser Arthur clearly felt the need to intervene. “Prince Aerion, why don’t you go change and then take the Lady for a walk in the gardens.”

Aerion smiled, and nodded his agreement. While he was gone Ser Arthur and Lady Tyene conversed about Dorne and shared memories of its different sights.

The Prince returned wearing simple brown doe skin pants and a loose white shirt that showed off his strong build. Tyene thought that he was handsome, but she could tell that he knew how he looked and was not the sort of man with any humility. She had yet to form any opinion of his personality. She knew that whatever he thought of her and whatever she thought of him, it would make no difference, they would marry no matter what.

The Prince took her arm and led her back into the gardens. Ser Oswell Whent replaced Ser Arthur as the guard, but Tyene knew that he was now as much an escort as anything else, there to make sure that they maintained propriety. Something told her that was a necessity with the younger prince by her side.

“Tell me Tyene,” the prince hummed, at last breaking his silence, “What should I know about you before we are wed?”

“What would you like to know your Grace? That’s a rather open ended question.” She was tempted to bat her lashes at him, but she realized that he wouldn’t take her seriously if she did. She would demand the respect of her husband-to-be. 

“True, true. I must confess that I want to know you before we wed. Let us stop here and talk.” They had come to a low wall of the garden that overlooked a lower section as it moved toward the wall of the keep. They were in a grove of lemon trees and Tyene noted that the thick leaves would save them from any prying eyes other than the guard. Here they could be alone.

The Prince turned to look at her, “Are you really named for a Sandsnake?”

Tyene chuckled, “Yes my mother named me for her favorite cousin, Tyene Sand, daughter of Oberyn.”

“And tell me, are you as adept as the Sandsnakes at killing?”

“That depends,” Tyene moved closer, “are you trying to figure out how hard it will be for you to turn me into an innocent bride with no will? Or are you trying to decide if I’ll make a good partner for sparring?” She had a feeling that he wanted neither of these things, but she wanted to push him. 

Aerion arched his brows, “Do you want to be a bride with no will?”

“No.” Tyene did not hesitate. She knew what she wanted. She also didn’t miss that he ignored the second part of the question but let it slide. 

“Good, so are you as adept at killing as the Sandsnakes?”

Tyene held his gaze for a moment, surprised, and then nodded, “Yes, though I favor knives as Lady Nymeria does.”

“And how many knives are you concealing?”

“I think it is my turn to ask a question,” she smiled, avoiding the question as he had done hers, “Don’t you agree?” the Prince shrugged, a small smile playing across his lips. Tyene was distracted for a second about how kissable those lips were. “Good,” she said, collecting herself quickly, “Now, Prince Aerion I must know, who do you favor more, the Lion or the Dragon?”

Aerion laughed, a full, big, broad laugh, “So, asking if I am crazy or crazier!”

Tyene felt indignant, “Yes I am asking exactly that.”

He leaned so was far to close and whispered so that only she could here. “I am crazy in the sense that Aegon the conqueror was crazy.”

“Oh, so you wish you could have married your sister?”

“No, I have a desire to be someone who everyone remembers.” He whispered.

“So you have the Lannister madness?”

“Mayhaps, although I do not care for wealth the way the Lannisters do.”

Tyene examined him again. She could tell that he was rather cocky, yet she could see that underneath there was a far kinder young man. Part of her wanted to hate him for taking her away from Dorne, and part of her rather liked him. She could tell that he would be a good man to rule her home. 

Tyene met his gaze, “Then I can see that we will get along well.”

He smiled and nodded in agreement. Aerion rather liked this girl, she had a fierceness to her and he doubted she would ever be a tame and dutiful wife, but he liked that. He could never stomach the women who did whatever their husbands wanted without any consideration and without any power, something he knew others blamed on his own willful mother. He could also sense that she would never give him control over Dorne, and she was fiercely proud of her home, almost to a fault. But then again most Dornish were, and he was not marrying her with the intention of taking her lands. 

He offered her his arm and continued on the path moving through the gardens. “Now Tyene, you must tell me about Dorne.”  
\--

The gardens of the Red keep were always full of people and it could be hard to find a quiet spot to sit. One of the first things that Loras and Willas had done when they arrived was find themselves a little pavilion off to the side where they could be alone with just those who came from Highgarden with them.

Loras was sitting beneath their pavilion trying to embroider. For the past few days Loras had been trying to figure out how to embroider a dragon without it being too noticeable. Loras knew she couldn’t tell anyone, but Willas had agreed that she should start preparing herself for the eventual marriage.

She could hear the girls giggling around her about all the different Lords and Knights that they had met. All any of the girls could talk about recently was the coming marriage. In just a few days Aerion Targaryen would marry Tyene Martell. There would be a ceremony in the Sept of Baelor and latter a feast in the grand hall of the castle. Everybody was excited for the royal marriage and more than ever people were speculating about Aegon’s marriage.

The announcement of Loras's impending marriage would be announced later than was originally planned so as not to steal the attention from the other wedding. Queen Cersei had instructed Loras, however, that since the announcement would be made that night, after the couple was taken for the bedding, she needed to wear at least some of the Targaryen colors. Loras had commissioned a simple black skirt to wear under a new gown in her favorite style of green with gold embroidery.

Loras was examining the golden dragon she was laying over a black field when she heard the girls around her quiet. Tyene kept working until she felt Alla nudge her; Tyene raised her head and was met with the sight of Aegon Targaryen.

He was standing just before the pavilion in a simple black tunic top without any embroidery or vestment. He wore his hair at shoulder length like his father and his mismatched eyes were bright.

He smiled and bowed for the ladies, as did Ser Arthur Dayne who was guarding him. Aegon smiled nervously as he spoke, “Lady Loras, would you mind accompanying me for a walk?”

Loras blushed as she nodded. Carefully she folded her embroidery and rose to her feet. Aegon took her arm and lead her away from the pavilion. As they left Loras heard the girls chatter pick up excitedly, and she knew that the whole city would know she went for a walk with the prince by evening.

Aegon was silent, and Loras was far too nervous to speak. She wished she could think of something to say to break the silence, as she wanted to get to know this man before they married. Loras thought of something and immediately began to speak, just as Aegon started to say something at the exact same moment. 

Both paused, “You first Your Grace.” Loras blushed.

Aegon was clearly just as nervous as Loras as he spoke, “I was just going to ask how you were finding the capital, my Lady.”

Loras blushed a deeper shade of crimson. “I rather enjoy it Your Grace, there is such a vibrant mix of life here and so many different people,” she replied quietly.

Aegon nodded, “Yes, it is rather different from any other place in the seven kingdoms. Now your turn, what were you going to ask me?”

“Oh, I was just going to ask if you were excited for your brother’s wedding.”

Aegon nodded, “I am happy to see him wed, he was always rather reckless and willful, I think a wife is exactly what he needs.”

Loras nodded, unable to think of anything else to say. Aegon didn’t say anything either and so both kept walking in silence. Eventually the young prince spoke.

“My mother says we are not to marry for another two years.”

“Yes,” she replied, “She wants time to teach me the responsibilities of being Queen and to give us time to get to know each other.”

“Yes, and given your age I am glad about that.”

Loras blushed again, “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“For being so much younger than you, and making you wait two more years for your own wedding when your brother is to be wed in just a few days time.”

Aegon turned and looked at her, “Loras that is not a reason for you to apologize to me. I do not mind waiting to get married. I would much rather marry a girl who I have had the time to get to know than some stranger the way my brother is. This is a good match and the fact that you are younger does not bother me if it does not bother you.”

Loras nodded and took his arm again as he offered it. They continued to make their way down the paths, neither bothering to speak and yet as they continued to walk Loras felt a little less nervous about the match.

\--

The day of the marriage dawned with a sky of clear blue and little clouds scuttling across its vastness. The people of the capital gathered in the square the way they had years ago for the marriage of King Rhaegar. The Martell’s had not only brought a new Princess, but they had also brought food from Dorne that they had been distributing since their arrival in Flea Bottom. Many people had seen the Princess of Dorne and her daughter walking on foot through the streets. They had bought pastries on the Street of Flour, watched Daemon Sand try out swords along the Street of Steel, and bought fabrics all over for dresses. As it was the people of the capital were in love with the soon-to-be Princess.

Tyene herself woke up from a peaceful sleep. She felt no fear for the day ahead unlike most women, and unlike most she did not fear the marriage bed. Although she was still a maid, she was not inexperienced. From the age of twelve she had taken different lovers of sorts, learning all she could while protecting her maidenhead. Her mother had warned her that the Targaryen’s would not take her if she were not pure.

Arianne Martell arrived soon after to dress her daughter along with Tyene’s aunt Dany. The formally Targaryen Princess had married Quetyn Martell and they had moved together across the narrow sea to Braavos. There they were happy to represent Westeros in many important affairs and lived contentedly without any children. Together the two women helped Tyene dress for the wedding.

Tyene had favored a more Dornish dress. She wore a purple halter slip without a back and a streamlined skirt. It flowed with the delicacy of water yet had none of the cumbersome petticoats that others favored, giving her the ability to move freely. Over it she wore a robe of loosely knitted myrish lace. It did nothing to cover up the skin that her gown left exposed. She wore her hair down, but pulled back in the front and clipped with a small bronze sun. Her robe had two clasps, both bronze. One was in the shape of the sun and spear of Martell; the other was the dragon of Targaryen. Arianne thought that her daughter looked like a true Dornish Princess. She looked like Myriah Martell come again. The fierce Dornish Princess marrying a Targaryen Prince. 

When Tyene looked at herself in the mirror she was impressed with what she saw. She was a pretty girl but she had never believed that she could look like this. Dany had always said that she could match any other lady in the Seven kingdoms with her looks, but given her stature and dark complexion she had never really believed it, until now.

She rode through the city streets to the Sept. Litters were for the weak and the timid in her mind. She took great pleasure in letting everyone see her and touch her and being able to see everyone at the same time. The people cheered as she rode towards them, they remembered the last royal wedding and although this one would be slightly less extravagant than either of the previous two, it would still be a day to remember. Tyene couldn’t help but laugh. Kings Landing was filled with a variety of people that she would never find in Dorne; she loved the capital and its people nearly as much as her own home

The ceremony was simple and quick, Tyene had never cared for Septs and their septons but she made herself stay calm through the whole thing. She could not wait for the rest of the evening; she may be a maid but had been with men in other ways and was rather excited for the evening to come. Besides, as much as Prince Aerion was cocky and pompous, he was also exceptionally physically attractive. 

They rode back through the city together. Tyene on her sand steed and Aerion on his great black stallion made quite a spectacle. Both spent most of the ride joking with the other and laughing at any little slip up the other made. Aerion had noticed the fact that his bride wasn’t wearing a corset; he had also noticed the blade that she had strapped to her inner thigh. Although he couldn’t say he loved her, he had to admit that he liked her easy ability to challenge him, something very few people outside of his family did. 

By the time they reached the keep both were breathless with laughter. It took far too much self-control for both of them to sit through the receiving of gifts. Exchanging pleasantries with random Lords and Ladies was hard for the two, both were fighters and hated sitting still for any long period of time. Last of all to come with gifts were their families.

Dany came first with Quentyn, they gifted the couple with a great ship to do with, as they liked. Aerion smiled eagerly but Tyene grimaced at the idea of more time aboard a ship.

Daena came next with Robb Stark. Tyene had only seen the northerner in passing and now took a moment to study his face. He was clearly proud and Tyene had to grant that he was attractive, though not in a way she was used to. His wife was quite obviously her mother’s daughter, and Tyene noted that of the three Targaryen children, Daena was the one that bore the closest resemblance to the Lannister half of her heritage, though she looked far more northern now than she must have before her marriage. Daena smiled and presented two identical daggers. The hilts were of a white wood and carved to show a dragon encircling a sun, the blades themselves were of dragon glass and gleamed. Tyene admired the blade while Robb explained that according to legend dragon glass could kill the Other.

After that came Aegon. Loras Martell was at his side. Although the engagement had not yet been announced, they had been spending time together to try and get to know each other. Aegon gave them two intricately carved goblets of silver set with rubies in one and amethysts in the other. He gave the rubies to Tyene however and the other to his brother. Upon closer inspection the rubies formed a sun and the amethysts a dragon. 

Arianne and Daemon came next with a pair of saddles of the gentlest worked leather.

Daemon smiled, "They will go perfectly with the sand steeds we have waiting in Dorne."

Tyene could understand the meaning behind thy well enough. They must return to Dorne as quickly as possible. 

Last of all came the King and Queen. They were dresses in alternating Targaryen colors. The Queen wore a gown of sweeping red with long bell sleeves and bare shoulders. The king was dressed in a black doublet of leather. Tyene could easily see where her new husband got his looks. Rhaegar stepped forward with a smile on his face. Cersei came up beside him. Both carried silk packages, one long and the other shorter. Cersei gave her smaller package to Tyene while Rhaegar gave the larger to Aerion. The newlyweds exchanged a glance before opening the gifts. Inside was a pair of elegant scabbards. They were of black, supple leather inlaid with alternating silver and bronze studs and designs of rubies and amethysts. The images formed were dragons and suns chasing each other across mountain ranges and rivers. Within each was a blade. Tyene received a short sword while Aerion received a bastard blade. Both were delicate steel folded with different colors, red for Aerion and purple for Tyene. The hilts were of dragon bone and were simply carved. 

Tyene marveled at the sharpness of her steel while Aerion examined the length of his. Both were stunning blades and even if they weren't made of Valyrian steel they would be deadly.

The guests returned to their tables and the feast was served. They had chosen simple salads to start with, fruits and nuts mixed to perfection. This was followed by the soup, a delicate creamy broth with mushrooms floating in it with an added thin crust of cheese on the top. Tyene and Arianne had only wanted one dish per course in order to keep costs down, but also because it was a custom in Dorne, both wanted to remind the guests that this was still a Dornish wedding. What had surprised them the most was that the Queen had not protested their request. The lamb leg was covered with potatoes and rich wine sauce. They ended with pigeon pie, a recent staple at royal weddings. Aerion fed Tyene off the tip of his knife, to all those watching it would appear the two were infatuated with each other. Both were flirting with the other, yet neither was truly enamored with other, they were only putting on a show.

Eventually Aerion pulled his bride to his feet and announced that they were off. Nobody batted an eye that the bedding ceremony was forgone, as it was almost expected in Targaryen weddings since Rhaegar’s own. As they left Rhaegar rose to his feet and toasted to the new couples health and happiness. After a pause he announced the betrothal of his son Aegon to Lady Loras Tyrell, the young girl turned bright red as the entire hall turned their gaze to her, but nobody could tell.

\--

Upstairs Aerion was watching Tyene. When they had entered the room she had moved to stand by the fire, turning her back to him. He didn’t want to push her so he walked to a small table where a pitcher of wine was set out waiting for them. He poured himself a glass and turned to observe his bride. 

She was facing away from him, her long dark hair curling down to the small of her back. He could not deny that he was rather attracted to the Dornish Princess, at least physically. She may be a good foot shorter than him, but he had to admit her dark skin and curvy body were rather arousing. He watched her staring into the fire and wondered what she was thinking.

Tyene felt Aerion’s gaze on her back, she knew he wanted her to turn but she didn’t. She was watching the dancing flames, fire may be the symbol of house Targaryen but Tyene would always find more fear than beauty in the flames. 

She felt a pair of strong arms slip around her waist and a headrest on the top of her head. Aerion drew her close and they stayed like that for a few minutes.

Eventually Tyene spoke, “You know the last person who rested their head on mine came out a hand shorter.”

Aerion laughed, “Don’t worry, I think I can keep my hand.”

Tyene rolled her eyes and turned to face him, craning back her neck to look into her husband’s eyes, over a foot above her. 

Aerion laughed, “Having a little trouble there?”

Tyene glared at him, “I’m fine.” She was nothing if not stubborn.

“Why don’t we sit down?” the Prince asked. 

Without waiting for a response he took a few steps back, pulling her along with him and collapsing into an armchair that had been behind them. Tyene fell so that she was straddling one of his legs. Her hands shot up to catch herself against his chest, preventing them from crashing together. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and glared again, this time willing daggers to shoot out of her eyes and kill him.

“What?” He asked feigning innocence.

“Don’t do that again!” She hissed.

He leaned close, “Well you are a bit smaller than me, and I had to rectify that.”

One of his hands moved to the small of her back and he drew her close, his other hand finding the back of her head drawing her effortlessly to him. Tyene slipped her arms around his neck as their lips met. Her mouth opened to him with ease. This kiss was probing but gentle, as she carefully explored his mouth while her fingers moved back to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath. He shifted, pulling her till she was pressed up against his chest, his head tilted back to meet her kiss. At once both changed, kissing with more passion. Tyene moved her tongue into his mouth and explored. His hands were running up and down her sides and as one brushed over her nipple Tyene let out a little gasp in the back of her throat 

Aerion pulled away and grinned at her. With swift skilled fingers he undid the clasps of her robe. Tyene shrugged it off her shoulders with ease. He found the clasp of her dress at the base of her neck and snapped it free, pulling it forward and down, exposing her breasts. 

Tyene leaned back and flicked her hair off her shoulder, watching his reaction. He took in her round full breasts with their large, dark nipples, a smile spreading across his face. He cupped one and gently ran his finger over the nipple feeling it stiffen at his touch. He bent his head, taking it in his mouth, sucking. Tyene moaned, a deep one pulled from the back of her throat. Aerion smiled and continued at his work, alternating between sucking, nipping and scraping his teeth across her skin. Tyene gripped his head and pulled him closer, unable to get enough. 

She felt his hands move to the hem of her skirt, which had slipped up onto her thighs, while his lips moved to the base of her neck and she smiled. He continued to play with the base of her skirt but Tyene made him wait. She could feel him growing frustrated, but she didn’t care. Eventually his lips found their way back to hers. This time he was more forceful, asserting himself with ease. Tyene, too, was losing her patience, she was done playing and she could tell Aerion was too. She pulled back and pushed him into the soft pillows of the chair.

Sitting back against his thigh Tyene pulled the dress over her head. She saw surprise in Aerion’s eyes at her action and watched a smile spread over his lips as he took in her body. She leaned forward and began to unfasten the hooks of his doublet. He moved to help her and she pushed him away. When it was completely undone, he sat up and she pushed it back over his shoulders, pulling off his undershirt in one swift movement. Tyene took in his torso and couldn’t help but marvel at his raw power. She counted at least eight muscles rippling in his abdomen, but couldn’t get a full view as he stood, pulling her with him.

He didn’t put her down but instead hitched her up higher. She took the cue and wrapped her legs around his waist. As he walked toward the bed Tyene couldn’t help but run her fingers over his taught muscles. 

When they reached the bed he lowered her down onto the edge. Tyene sat up swiftly, grabbing the laces of his breaches. She worked swiftly undoing them. She pulled the pants down, finally exposing him. He slipped off his pants and moved toward her. Tyene moved back until she hit the pillows behind her. 

She leaned back and spread her legs with ease. Aerion smiled as he ran his hand from her breast down to the wetness that was spreading between her legs. Gently he slipped his finger inside her. She gasped and arched her back, urging him in deeper. 

Aerion leaned close, his mouth right by her ear as he whispered, “Do you want me Tyene?”

She tilted her head back and looked at him, “Yes” She hissed.

He smiled and hooked his finger inside of her, making her groan again. Slowly he pulled his finger out and spread her legs further. Tyene watched as he gently guided himself to her opening. She slipped her arms round his neck and pulled him down to her, even as he thrust into her. She let out a cry of pleasure mingled with pain. It hurt more than she had expected it would; yet for her the pleasure was greater than the pain. She felt her maidenhead break and couldn’t help but smile, pleased that it was done and she no longer had to mind something as silly as maidenhood. Aerion smiled back, pulling out of her embrace, he pulled almost all the way out and thrust again, Tyene bit her lip, yet still cried out. She grabbed Aerion and dragged him down to her, burying her head in the crook of his neck. She cried out again and again as he thrust himself into her. She could feel the tension building. Her fingers dug into his back, digging into the flesh. 

She rolled her hips to meet his next thrust and this time Aerion let out a moan of his own. She smiled, pushing her legs into the mattress, allowing him further inside her. He continued to thrust into her, his pace growing with every passing second. She kept rolling her hips to meet him, but she could feel a tension building in side of her, and she felt like she was about to burst.

Then all at once she came, waves of pleasure rolling through her. Aerion pushed himself off her and smiled down at her, continuing to thrust. In another minute he too had finished, a brilliant smile on his face and his eyes alight. 

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled so she lay on top of him. Her hand rested against the muscle of his arm. She ran her fingers across his skin, marveling at its smoothness. Aerion raised his head to look at her.

“Tyene, what is it?” He asked.

Tyene raised her head to look at him, “Nothing.”

“Don’t play that game with me, Tyene. What’s wrong?”

She shrugged, “I was just thinking.”

“About…?”

She sat up so she was straddling him and looked him full in the face. “Just what this all means. For me, for Dorne, for you.”

He looked at her, “What do you mean?”

“Its just that… This is never what my mother really wanted for me, wanted for Dorne. She married for love and wanted me to do the same. She didn’t want me to tie Dorne further into the realm, but your family pushed this and she accepted.” She paused, lifting her head to meet his gaze, “I serve Dorne first, not the Seven kingdoms, not you, not our children. I will choose Dorne.”

Aerion nodded with a soft frown, “I understand that, don’t worry, I will never ask you to put anything but Dorne first. I hope we can at least agree to like each other, even if we do not love each other.”

Tyene smiled, “Well I know one part of you I can love.”

“Oh, and what part is that?” He asked.

A smirk played along Tyene’s lips, “Your body is rather fabulous.” She lay down on top of him, resting her head gently against his shoulder. She fell asleep in his arms thinking, maybe for the first time, that she could really love this boy, and that she could see their children ruling Dorne.


	15. The Queen for a Fool

Margaery had thought that her marriage would lead to power, maybe not the power marrying Aegon would have brought, but still power. She had thought that Joffrey would take her to court, where his mother lived with the Queen, supposedly her closest friend. Yet her marriage had come to nothing. Instead she lived in Storms End, with no one to entertain her, well no one but Mel. The Red Woman had become a companion to Margaery and in the end she had learned that the priestess was willing to use her power, and that she had plenty.

It no longer bothered her, sharing her bed with another woman, instead Margaery had begun to enjoy it. She preferred the graceful hands of the priestess to her husband's rough groping. There was heat in Mel’s eyes when she gazed into the flames or when she prayed to the Red God, a heat that Margaery occasionally caught glimpses of when they were in bed together, just the two of them.  It made her stomach flip with joy, that look that she couldn’t quite place but that she was sure was a look of pleasure. 

The day the raven came, Margaery kept Melisandre in her rooms all afternoon. By the time she was done with her, Melisandre was sprawled on the great bed, panting heavily, her chest flushed as red as her hair. There was a smile on her lips that made Margaery grin--she had pleased the Red Woman.  

Margaery rose gracefully from the bed and went in search of her gown. She found it on the floor, luckily unripped. Another good thing about Melisandre, she always took her dress off with the utmost care, never ripping it. Joffrey had rough hands, Margaery made sure to wear old dresses when she went to him, she knew he would rip them every time. 

Margaery turned to look at the woman, “Are you coming down to dinner?” she asked.

Melisandre shook her head. “I am not hungry,” she murmured, “I will stay here and gaze into the flames. I have many questions for the Lord of Light and I have a feeling that tonight he will answer me.”

Margaery smiled, “I hope he sends you a message, my Lord Husband grows impatient in his waiting.” Then she turned and left the room. 

\--

Joffrey was late to dinner, but Margaery didn’t particularly care. She could tell that he had been at the brothel but that relieved her, it meant he would not be coming to her tonight. 

The raven arrived during dinner. The Maester shuffled in holding the letter in his shriveled hands. Joffrey extended his hand to take it, but the Maester handed it to Margaery. 

"Who is it from?” asked Joff, clearly annoyed that it had not been meant for him.

Margaery examined the handwriting. It was a curly feminine script that looked familiar to Margaery, upon closer examination she realized the handwriting was that of her sister.

“It’s from my little sister, Loras.” she said with a smile.

“Ah yes, the less attractive one,” sneered Joff.

Margaery resisted to throw him an angry look across the table as she slit the seal open with her dinner knife and unfolded it, beginning to read.

Dear Margaery,  
I hope you are well and are enjoying Storms End. I have some very exciting news, Willas says that I am not meant to tell anyone, but I couldn’t resist telling you.   
It turns out that Prince Aegon Targaryen was engaged to Sansa Stark, but she broke the engagement with Sandor Clegane. Anyway, luckily Willas and I were in the capital and Rhaegar was looking for a new bride for his son, and they asked me!  
Willas accepted right away, he hasn’t even consulted father yet.   
Margaery, I’m going to marry the Prince! I’m going to be Queen!  
Please do not tell anyone, I’m not even supposed to tell you!  
I hope you and Joffrey are happy!  
Love, Loras

Margaery felt the breath go out of her. She slumped back in her chair, only for a second, before quickly rising and exiting the room. She ran to her rooms, slamming the door behind her as she entered, only stopping when she saw Melisandre standing in front of the fire. 

“I have seen.” Was all she said.

Margaery strained her shoulders, trying not to cry as she looked at the woman. “What have you seen?” she asked.

“Your sister,” She replied, turning to face her with those cunning red eyes, “And her betrayal.”

It felt like the worst betrayal, her sister had never wanted any sort of power, she just wanted to be kind to people. It was meant to be Margaery with all the power, not baby Loras.

“It cannot be betrayal if he was never mine,” whispered Margaery. 

Melisandre shook her head, “It is betrayal My Lady. She is claiming your crown. You should be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not her.”

Margaery sighed, “As true as that may be, I am wed to Joffrey, my one true love.” As hard as she tried, she could not make the words sound any less bitter, or less sarcastic. Joffrey hadn’t really wanted her, and her ambitions fell far above the lord of Storm’s End, her heart trailing in their wake. Seven hells, who didn’t love the prince?

Melisandre shook her head, “I do not mean that you should be wed to Aegon. All those born of the line of Rhaegar Targaryen and Cersei Lannister are cursed. Both they and all their descendants are traitors to the true king.”

Margaery stared at her, wondering if this was a joke. Finally, shook her head and sighed, “How, how are they cursed?”

“They are guilty of kinslaying, the worst crime.”

Margaery stared at this women, she couldn’t quite understand what she was saying. “They have never been Kinslayers. Aerys was slain by Jamie Lannister.”

“It is not the mad king of which I speak.”

“Then who?” urged Margaery, she was getting tired of this woman's game. All she wanted was to crawl into her bed and pretend that she was still a little girl. 

Melisandre sighed, “They conspired to murder Robert Baratheon. Cersei did it under the roof of Storms End. She took Lyanna and Joffrey's brothers and sisters away with the hopes of controlling him. She murdered her husband's cousin in cold blood, Robert is of the Baratheon line, who are the descendants not only of Aegon Targaryen’s brother, but also of the sister of Jaehaerys, Rhaelle. They are of the same blood, and the act of Kinslaying is punishable by death.”

“But how does any of this make my sister a traitor?” asked Margaery. This was confusing, and she was fairly sure that Westerosi law did not bend this way. Maybe in Essos it did, but not here. 

“She is to wed the child of a Kingslayer, who is cursed. Her future husband is not the rightful King. Her husband lays claim to a title and crown that goes to your husband, thus she betrays you.”

Margaery laughed and shook her head, “You’re being ridiculous, nobody is going to believe that! My sister is an evil little backstabbing bitch, but she is not a traitor.” She crossed to her bed and sat down. 

Melisandre shook her head, “The Lord of Light has proclaimed her a traitor, I have seen it in my flames.” The woman crossed to kneel before her, “Do you know what else I have seen in the flames?”

Margaery looked into the deep red eyes of the woman she had once believed a witch, who was now the closest thing she had to a friend. “What else have you seen?” she asked.

Melisandre smiled, “You and Lord Baratheon, raised above the rest, crowns on you head. The people cheer for you. You and he shall be the King and Queen of Westeros and all will bow before you.” 

Margaery shook her head, “I’m sorry, My Lady, but you are wrong.” She rose and swiftly walked to the door, opening it, “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to be alone.”

\--

A week later Joffrey received a letter from his mother. She complained about him not coming to the marriage of Aerion Targaryen and Tyene Martell, which had happened just a few days before. She also told him of the betrothal of Loras Tyrell. Margaery tried to look surprised and retreated to her room as quickly as possible. She was not happy for her sister, and she doubted she ever would be. 

A year passed in relative normalcy. Joffrey came to her rooms most nights and Melisandre came with him. He still insisted on trying, saying that he was a Baratheon and would have a son. Margaery by now knew that it would never happen and had even begun to consider taking Gendry into her bed so that she could have a Baratheon son. But Joffrey's younger brother was prickly with his northern honor so like his mother’s. She doubted he would consent. 

Margaery did only one thing daily for the year, she stewed. She began to blame her sister for everything, for her marriage, for her husband, for her boring life, and most importantly, for her unhappiness. She began to believe that it was all her little sister’s fault. She was the one who had learned everything from her grandmother, she was the one who had learned to succeed, yet it was her sister who would be sitting on the throne. Her sister who, in all her damned piety and goodness, had rejected their grandmother’s lessons. 

Within a year Margaery hated her sister, and knew she would never love her again. She felt like her sister had stolen her one true chance at happiness, that she had planned this all along, to take what her sister had wanted all along. 

When the last letter came Margaery had finally had enough. She opened it, intending to skim it before giving it to the flames, an offering to the God. The first line stopped her, Margaery paused to read it again.

“Today, dear sister, the Prince took me out on his dragon.”

She didn't hesitate to give that letter to the flames, to watch it burn. It gave her great pleasure to watch her sister's writing curl in the flames, being eaten alive it seemed. Let fire, the symbol of the Targaryens, take her words.

A knock on the door broke Margaery from her thoughts, she turned and watched as the door opened as Melisandre entered the room. Her eyes traveled from Margaery kneeling before the fire, to the letter, still curling in the flames. Her gaze returned to Margaery and she sighed. 

“What has your sister written?” she asked.

Margaery smiled ruefully, “Don’t you already know?”

Melisandre laughed, “I can see some things, but not everything child. Tell me what has hurt you so.”

Margaery sighed, looking at her hands. “My sister, she sent another letter.”

Melisandre walked towards Margaery, “What did she say this time?”

“It’s not what she said so much as what she did. The life that she gets to lead. I was always the pretty one, the smart one, so why is it that she gets to be the Queen?”

Melisandre smiled, “You forget, she will be the false Queen, she has no right to the throne that she will claim.”

Margaery laughed, “Why do you always bring this up? There’s no way people will believe us.”

Melisandre smirked, "Who was always your grandmother’s favorite?" 

Margaery rolled her eyes, "Me."

"And who do the banner men of the Stormlands answer to?" She asked. The visions had not stopped, Melisandre never hesitated to remind her of them, of the promise that she would be queen one day, that the rest would burn in her wake. 

"My husband." Whispered Margaery, the plan beginning to form in her mind. She rose to her feet and began to pace the room. "We couldn't go to the North for assistance, they’re too close to the crown, same with the Martell's. The Iron born have no love for the Targaryen's and they would join us. The Arryn's have a stake in both sides and would stay neutral. That just leaves the Lannisters and Tully's, but they'd stay with the crown." Margaery shook her head, "it's no use, we wouldn't have the men."

Melisandre cocked her head, "Not even with the Iron born?"

Margaery stopped and thought. The Iron islands were a seafaring kingdom, their ships would give Joffrey a distinct advantage over the crown, especially if the meant to take Kings Landing. Still, the odds were steep against them, unless they could act quickly. At least she could hope to secure her father’s aid. He was not the smartest of me, after all, and Olenna had always adored Margaery. With the Reach as well as the Stormlands, and if the Iron Islands could cut off the Westerlands...

Margaery looked over at Melisandre. The woman smiled, her red eyes glowing in the firelight. "What do you think of this plan now?" 

Margaery smiled, "I think we should both go to my husband tonight when he calls."

Melisandre nodded and exited the room. 

\--

When Joffrey called Margaery that day she went with Melisandre at her side. Joffrey's eyes were full of greed when he saw both the women together. Her husband always wanted more, that was something she had learned fast in their marriage. Margaery made sure to please him, making it almost a performance for him. She could tell that he was enjoying it, that afterwards he would be in the palm of her hand. 

When they finished he lay between them, watching them kiss. She had also learned quickly that this was a favorite of his, and if there was one thing that her grandmother had taught her, it was knowing how to play any man to your advantage. That mostly started with giving him what he wanted in bed. 

Margaery pulled away and turned to her husband. "My lord," she murmured, leaning in and kissing him slowly, "Melisandre had a proposal for us."

Joffrey smirked, "What does she propose?"

Melisandre sat up and watched as Margaery leaned in, her lips brushing her husband's ear, "to make you the King," she whispered.

As she pulled away she could see from the smirk on Joffrey's face that he would need no more convincing, he already thought himself the King. Her husband did not lack in ambition, and she knew that he was just as dissatisfied with this life as she was, while Margaery dealt with it by moping in her room and watching the flames, he threw himself into hitting people with weapons and hitting whores. 

She smirked at his answer, although she knew now the hard part would begin.

\--

Melisandre advised they send envoys to Highgarden and Pyke in secret. Joffrey sent his most trusted men to the castles. 

They kept it a secret, even from Gendry, for Melisandre knew he would not join them, not yet. 

A week after the envoys left, Melisandre stood in her room gazing into the fire. She was looking in the flames for the future, the will of the Lord of Light that had brought her here. 

She did not truly believe that Joffrey was the rightful King, but it hadn’t taken much to persuade these Westerosi fools that Kinslaying made someone unworthy to ascend to the throne. The reason she had persuaded Margaery and Joffrey of this was simple, she knew Joffrey would never go North without reason, and it was his duty as Azor Ahai to do so. 

She saw many others in the flames, people who intrigued her. There was a tall man with flowing hair, a dragon on his breastplate. He stood before a great castle, one she didn’t recognize, and men flocked to him. There was another man who rode through a storm with a great wall of ice behind him, yet he road toward his death. There were two twins who were mirrors of each other, yet they were opposite sides of the same coin. She saw a girl dancing around them, a girl with wolf eyes. With her there was another girl, a girl whose fire rivaled that of the dragon breastplate man. She had dragon’s wings, as did the twins. She watched as a rose thicket grew around a lion and a wolf, fencing them in. 

At last Joffrey came through the flames. He walked with a tall dark man, but there was a shadow about him that Melisandre feared, at the same time it intrigued her. With the men walked two women. She recognized one as Margaery, and the other was a stranger whose head was aflame. Melisandre guessed that she was sacred to the Lord, a true queen for Azor Ahai perhaps. She probed the flames for hours, searching for what the war would bring them, but other than seeing the people, repeated over and over again, she learned nothing. The only thing that was added to the flames was the image of a Kraken and a Dragon locked in combat over a stormy sea.

She pulled away at last, having learned nothing of the war, only having learned of its players. She sighed and headed out of the room in search of Lord Baratheon. 

\--

Willas Tyrell glared at his father, “You cannot be seriously considering this, father,” he growled.

“Think of what it will mean for our family,” Mace reasoned.

Willas snorted, “You’re being a fool father, in case you’ve forgotten, Loras is already betrothed to the heir to the bloody throne.”

His father shook his head, “The Targaryen’s are too strong, and Loras is to weak. Think about it, son. Loras is kind, and smart, and she has a certain cleverness. But she is not a Queen.” he glanced out the window for a moment and shook his head, “You said it yourself that Queen Cersei cares little for her.”

“You mean she will not promote your own interests enough father,” snapped Willas. His father was being ridiculous, had been so for days. When the rider from Storm’s End had come, proposing Joffrey as the true King rather than Rhaegar Targaryen, his father and grandmother had shut themselves away for hours discussing what to do. 

Willas knew that the discussions were merely a formality. His father saw this as a better opportunity for their family, thinking that precious Margaery would promote his interests more, give him more favorable trade deals and the like. For Olenna Tyrell it was an opportunity to put the better Queen on the throne. She would always see Margaery as the better daughter and would always push for her. He wondered how they could miss the glaring facts, that the Reach was surrounded by the crown’s allies. In particular, the Queen’s, which was more worrying. From his time in the capital with Loras, he knew that the woman had far too much influence, that her father in the Westerlands wouldn’t refrain from marching on Highgarten if they raised their banners for the Baratheon boy. More worrying was the possibility of her drawing on Dorne. For the first time in centuries, the desert kingdom was truly invested in the crown, between their prized princess living there and Cersei’s winters in Sunspear… 

They were poised in the Lioness’ jaws. 

Mace looked horrified by his son’s comment, puffing his chest out as if that made him more imposing. “That is not what I mean in the least,” he scoffed. “Think of your sisters, do you really think Loras is fit to be a Queen?”

He froze for a moment, crossing his hands on the pommel of the staff he used as a cane, his eyes flashing. “Father, I would never have accepted the King’s suggestion if I did not think her more than capable.” 

As Mace blustered on, Willas sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face, the stubble of a fresh beard catching on his fingers. Better to focus on that than the nonsense coming out of his father’s mouth. 

However, just as he was about to leave, he wheeled on his father. “what is this about gaining Lannister lands?” His eyes wide, he raised his hands in exasperation, the staff falling to the floor. “Father, honestly, how can you think we will prevail in this? The Queen’s family sits above us, with a far larger host. If this is about gold, then you are blind, father. Better to remain loyal, support Loras and the crown, and profit from providing their provisions. Raise the costs if you must, but by the Seven, you cannot…” he shook his head and brought his hand down on the table. 

“There is no victory to be had here!” 

But one look at his father’s face told him all he needed to know. If only it wasn’t Margaery, then he would be able to talk sense into his grandmother at least. But in this case… there was only one option to be had.

Picking up his staff with a bit of difficulty, Willas stormed from the chambers and retreated to his own. 

If he warned his sister, would they be better off? What about Margaery? And who was to say the crown would listen to him? 

Seated at his large oaken desk, he rested his face in his hands and sighed. Things in capital were still delicate, yes, Loras had been announced as the Prince’s intended, but she would not be of age for a few years yet, and should the Tyrells pledge for Joffrey Baratheon Loras would be at risk in King’s Landing- particularly since the King would be going off to war.

Willas didn’t have any illusions about which royal was kinder.

Cersei would eat his little sister alive, and enjoy her screams. Over the months he had been staying in the Red Keep, it had been King tempering Queen, the dragon far calmer than the lion. She was a fierce woman, and he was almost glad she was not in fact Dornish, seven hells, the woman would be terrifying in a war. 

Ah, but he had almost forgotten her twin. The Kingslayer. Between the two lions, his youngest sister would be crushed, and utterly powerless. He could not allow her to think herself abandoned. 

Taking out his quill and inkpot, he took his time selecting the words, knowing he could not be as clear as he would have liked. At first, he wrote a brief letter to Loras, warning her to keep her head up, but with no mention of the threat to the crown, no mention of the Baratheon boy calling himself a king.

But that was not enough. 

The servants brought him in his meal, but he barely moved, his hands steepled before him, his chin resting on his fingertips. Should the raven fall into the wrong hands, the whole of Westeros would be swept up into a panic, and Loras would be trampled underfoot like the little rose she was. Or, he would find himself dragged before his father and, seven hells, Joffrey Baratheon and the whore of a priestess he called consul. Words were feared, in the world they lived in, he had learned this quite well in his life, and he knew the King had as well. It was half the reason he admired Rhaegar Targaryen as much as he did, for the man actually had a head on his shoulders with which to direct the sword in his hand. 

The first time he had met the King he was still the Crown Prince, unwed and devoted far more to his studies than his swordplay or the many women that fawned over him. Although Willas had been much younger, just a boy really, they had studied a time together in Oldtown, practiced their High Valyrian together, poured over ancient texts and histories… those were his fondest memories of the man. 

So why write to his sister when he could give his words to the king himself?

They had exchanged letters all through that summer, more often than not poems and discussions in Valyrian. So why not one more? The words came easily, the quill flowing quickly over the parchment. Just a warning, an alert. Proof that House Tyrell was not unified behind the flaming Stag. 

\---

It had been over a week since the wedding and the announcement, the summer sun having extended the revelry in the city. And yet, her inside the walls of the Red Keep sat his wife, draped across her chaise in one of the Dornish gowns Doran Martell had brought her when he arrived for the wedding. 

Rhaegar couldn’t deny that he appreciated the gift, if only for the way the gown barely his anything of his wife’s lovely figure. He had not been lied to when he was told that Lannister’s aged well, Cersei could have passed for at least ten years younger than she was. Especially in that gown, the thin fabric clinging to each and every curve of the woman. 

All of which had been denied to him as of late. 

“For a woman who adores all things Dornish,” he sighed, taking a seat on the chaise and pulling her legs to rest in his lap, his fingers brushing over her ankles, “You seem terribly out of sorts to have a Martell in the family.”

He thought she would pull her legs away, or rise and wander off again, but the Queen just heaved a heavy sigh and moved a stray strand of gold off her brow. Her feet stayed in his lap though, bare and slender, her legs stretched across the chaise. “She’s grown up,” Cersei explained without looking at him.

“Of course she has, Cersei, so have you,” he sighed, rubbing her arch gently, trying to comfort her. Although from what he hadn’t the faintest idea. “You met her when she was just a child.”

“I know,” she huffed, sounding resigned. “I suppose I-” she sighed again and ran a hand through her hair as she sat up. “I can’t say either Tyene or… Loras… are what I imagined for our sons, darling.”

The King frowned, the crease between his brows that had become much more prominent as he aged growing deeper. “Cersei, we agreed on both of them… there was no one better suited-”

“How can you know that?”

He sighed and wrapped his arm around her, finding her back rigid with tension. Well, this would not be an easy conversation then. Offering her a gaze full of sympathy, Rhaegar waited for her to elaborate. 

“I can’t help but wonder if they will be happy with these girls,” she finally sighed. “Not like we are, Rhaegar.”

“Not every man is lucky enough to marry you, Cersei. And I hardly think we could have found two- or even one- women like you if we searched this world and the next,” he smiled, thinking he could charm her.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Cersei drew away from him, and he knew he had hit some nerve. Which, he couldn't begin to guess. “I hardly want them to marry me,” she spat, rising to her feet and moving to the window, that damned gown making it difficult for him to come up with a quick reply. “That isn’t what I was suggesting.”

“Nor was it what I meant,” he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Cersei, darling, you know Tyene will make Aerion very happy, and you adore Dorne…”

She seemed unmoved, arms crossed over her ample chest, and so he went on. “And I know Loras doesn’t seem like a Queen-”

“She isn’t the Queen. I am.” She snapped.

Rhaegar rolled his eyes and walked over to her, setting his hands on her hips and turning around. He had learned it was best to face Cersei’s anger head on. At least this way if she slapped him he saw it coming. “You are the Queen. But you and I will not be King and Queen forever, and Loras will make a good Queen. She adores you, use that. By the Seven, Cersei, you’re a brilliant woman. So teach her!”

Before she could voice the anger Rhaegar could see in her face, there was a cough at the door and she stepped back. 

“Your Grace,” he heard the maester say before he turned. “A raven has arrived from Highgarten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life happens... so does moving half a country away from each other. But Part 2 is in progress and will be posted shortly.

**Author's Note:**

> We've written the first half of this (it's a two parter) and our goal is to update every two weeks.


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